Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

„Handle so, daß du die Menschheit sowohl in deiner Person, als auch in der Person eines jeden anderen jederzeit zugleich als Zweck, niemals bloß als Mittel brauchest.“

Act in such a way that you always treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, never simply as a means, but always at the same time as an end.

Immanuel Kant - Grundlegung zur Metaphysik der Sitten - 1785

***

James

“Please hold the line.”

His breaths rushed in hard and fast, his phone laying on the floor between his feet in front of him. He’d long given up on trying to hold it in his trembling hands. It kept slipping away.

James force a stuttering deep breath. He wasn’t sure if he was going to pass out. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol. He wasn’t completely sure how much he’d even had. The bottles, they were all over the place. Then again, he didn't know if he was seeing double.

He pulled at his shirt for the third time, trying to free his neck from the suffocating weight. But it was useless. There was nothing squeezing his throat, and still, he was running out of air. He’d opened the windows wide to let in the cool night draft, but he was still sweating like crazy. A cage was closing in on him, pressing on him, he couldn’t breathe. He barely heard the automated voice past the ringing in his ears.

“Please hold the line.”

He closed his eyes and knocked his head back against the wall. Truth be told, he didn’t know why he was doing this. Maybe this was some sort of last resort. The nightmares hadn’t stopped. Even after all this time. Not before therapy, not during, and not now, after. Or whatever this therapeutic hell was.

He knew if he called Sam, the guy would try to talk him down, even at times like these, when he’d call after one in the morning. But it didn’t always help. Sam listened, but he didn’t understand. Not really. And he’d called him too many damn times anyway. It made him feel like shit. Sam was out there actually doing something, changing things, and he was out here in the middle of nowhere, wasting away, crying at night and trying to drink it all away with some special concoction he’d found that actually still worked on him. It was pathetic. And Sam was always so worried, and James hated making him worry.

Most of all, though, he didn’t want Sam noticing the lack of progress. He wanted him to believe he was getting better. He didn't want him to know that it was getting worse.

The only solution that James found was to talk to someone else, where it didn’t matter what state James was in. And it was worrying how fast he’d come up with just who to call— fuck. He bit his thumb. There was one person he knew, for certain, who would understand him.

His fingers searched for a bottleneck. He took another swig.

The low tone emanating from the phone suddenly switched off.

A reassuring voice answered the phone. “I can’t believe you’re calling. White wolf! I miss hearing from you. You should call more often!”

James closed his eyes, transported back in time. When things were better. Calmer. He wished he could go back there. But after what he’d pulled at the start of the year, helping him out of prison, he’d probably never see another sunrise from those hills. Funny that it was precisely about him that he was calling.

“I want to — I mean, I need to... to talk to him,” James started, gnawing at his lip. Fuck it. “I need to talk to Zemo.”

He was out of his mind. Out of his goddamn mind. But he was at the end of the line here. He had no other ideas.

“And you called me first, instead of trying to hack into the system or breaking him out again?” Shuri teased. “My, you have changed.”

James desperately tried to let the soothing light-heartedness of her voice reach him. But it didn't get to him. “Can I?”

“I don’t know... I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Look, I gave him up like I promised, didn’t I? I did what you asked.” He only just held his voice back from cracking. He tightened his hold on the bottle, hating the way he trembled, how desperate he sounded. “Just one call. That’s all I’m asking for. I need him.” He gulped. “For information,” he quickly added.

A sigh came from the other end of the line. “I do not like what you are up to, James. But I trust you, so... alright. I will contact the guards, have them notify him. But it is up to him if he wishes for a call to be patched through to you. And the calls are definitely recorded. It’s the Raft, James.”

“That— That’s okay. Thank you.”

There was a short pause. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

James grimaced. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen him like this before, distraught, a complete mess. But he couldn’t do it again. Disappoint them. Show them he was still a fucking failure after all this time, and all the effort, all the deprogramming, all the therapy. Worthless. “Y- yeah. Thank you, Shuri.”

“Don’t be a stranger, white wolf.”

The call ended and he cursed at himself, taking long gulps from the bottle. Whatever drink was in it was running low. He could open a liquor store with all this stuff. Well… could have. It was mostly gone now. He’d initially ordered the bottles to stock up the small wine cellar corner of the basement. To make it look nice. But then he’d somehow fallen into the bad habit of drinking whenever he woke up from the nightmares. Just to dull the pain, to make the memories blur. He’d never had this much, though.

He gazed out of the window, eyes drooping. What the hell was he thinking? This was such a bad idea. If calling Zemo of all people was the kind of shit he was resorting to, he’d surely become absolutely insane. So much for all the therapy, all the attempts at "reintegration."

He groaned as he set the mostly empty bottle down next to him. He wanted to forget, mostly. Forget where he was. Forget everything that had happened since Madripoor, the last time he’d felt alive.

James didn’t think it was possible at the time, but things had gotten so much worse than he could have imagined.

He stared at the blurry moon outside the window until its light faded.

He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew, the phone was ringing, the sudden sound jolting him out of his skin.

“Fuck!” His metal hand knocked the nearest bottle down onto the floor. It rolled slowly before clinking against another empty glass.

James frowned at the screen. It looked official. But it couldn’t already be… could it?

He chest tightened as he swiped up and carefully lifted the phone to his ear. He hated that his fingers were still fucking trembling.

“This call is from a detainee of the Raft,” an automated voice began, “all calls are logged and recorded and may be listened to as a matter of security. If you do not wish to accept this call, please hang up now.”

God. Could it already be him? His eyes darted to the clock. He’d only drifted off for about twenty minutes.

The phone beeped as he was put through. 

He tried to keep himself steady, though his heart was thumping loud in his chest, his throat tightening painfully, as if he’d been screaming for hours. And his breaths… his breaths were just as shallow as they had been when he’d had the brilliant idea to call up Shuri. He couldn’t control any of part of his body’s reaction. Just like the shaking in his hands—

“James?”

His breath stuttered.

He didn’t know why he was surprised by the soft voice. Nor did he know why the tears erupted then and there. It felt like he’d been holding his breath all evening, waiting for the rope to snap. And here it was. James pressed his hand to his mouth hard in an attempt to muffle it. This was Wakanda all over again. He’d broken down then, when he’d been freed from the words. And now he was coming apart all over again.

He was still broken. He was still the same.

Nothing had changed.

He sobbed into his palm, the tears wet on his fingers. He had no idea why it was his voice that had shattered him. That had brought on the sudden deluge of emotion. James was just so fucking exhausted, and tired, and drunk, and done, and his insides felt like they were melting, his composure like a dam collapsed, thoughts like sand slipping through his fingers. Fuck.

“James, what’s wrong?”

He regained some of his dignity, smearing the salty tears from his face with his metal hand, thankful Zemo couldn’t see him right now. James had no idea what he was doing. How much must he have had to drink to think calling Zemo would help?

He was out of his damn mind!

With that thought, James suddenly came to his senses. This was a horrible idea. He pulled the phone from his ear, fingers fumbling desperately to find the red “end call” button.

“James.” Zemo’s voice was clear and determined between two sniffs. “Talk to me. Is something wrong?”

James clenched his teeth hard enough to smart. He needed Zemo to tell him what to do. He didn’t know what to do.

“Talk to me.”

He shook his head at his phone, biting his metal thumb, seeking pain to ground himself. He didn’t know what to say. What was he supposed to say? That he was a failure? That he had managed to get drunk out of his goddamn mind despite being a super soldier? That all he had wanted was to hear that soft velvety voice— What the fuck was he thinking?

“I called you as soon as they told me you wanted to speak to me. Where are you? Do you need help?”

“It’s nothing.” The words slipped out before he could stop himself. It was nothing. Nothing really important.

“Ah.” James could hear the smile spreading. “There he is.”

Any other time, James would have punched that smug smile off that pretty face. But he was so tired right now. And Zemo wasn’t here. But dammit he wished he was —

Fuck. James really needed to get those intrusive thoughts out of his tipsy mind.

He had to stop this. All James had to do was press the button. He hovered his thumb over the screen, hesitating.

“James.”

James shivered, lucidity slowly returning to him after… whatever had brought on this impulsive decision. “I don’t know why I called, sorry.”

“I think you do. It is almost two in the morning, James.” A sigh. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“This…” This was so damn stupid. “Sorry for waking you—”

“It’s okay, James. I wasn’t asleep.”

James let out a big exhale of relief. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to reach for another bottle an arm’s length away. He downed some more of… whatever if it was called. So many bottles were shimmering slightly in the dark, all laid out on the bedroom floor like post modern art, reflecting the dim moonlight.

“Were you having nightmares?”

His heart fluttered, the reply swift. “No.”

“James.”

He took a deep breath, trying to sound certain. “No.”

Well… emphasis on the try. He knew he sounded even less convincing than the first time.

“I can tell when you’re lying, James. How bad?”

He cursed at himself, trying to breathe. Fine. Whatever. “Bad.”

He didn’t know what was compelling him to tell Zemo, of all people. Maybe he just hated himself that much.

“Do you want me to come?”

His heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“Do you need me to come to you?”

“You... can’t.”

“Do you really think the Raft can stop me? You of all people should know how good I am at slipping away, James.” There it was again: that smile he could hear through just his voice.

But what was Zemo thinking telling him this? Weren’t the calls being recorded?

“The Raft is not the same as some German prison.”

“That is true. But I’m willing to take my chances.”

“Why?”

The line went silent for a moment. “Do you want me to come?”

He bit his lip. Now that he thought about it, he did want Zemo to come. Zemo wouldn’t care about the state he was in. James wouldn’t care if Zemo judged him for it. It was a different story with Sam.

Besides, anything was better than being stuck in this place, alone with only his thoughts to keep him company. If he hadn’t known that this was part and parcel of his new therapy plan, he might have assumed this was some Hydra torture.

A part of him also had a hunch that the baron’s presence would soothe him. Calm his paranoia, anyway. Zemo knew what it was like. But he was also… so fucking irritating. None of his gut inclinations to have him come made any logical sense. Maybe it was some messed up Stockholm syndrome shit. He didn’t even want to start thinking about the Winter Soldier implications… if some messed up part of himself somehow still saw Zemo as a handler, as a protector.

It was so fucking stupid.

“James? Should I come?”

God how he wanted to say yes.

“No,” he forced out instead.

“I just told you I can tell when you’re lying. You’re very bad at it, James.”

Despite himself, Bucky chuckled.

He could hear Zemo’s smile widen on the other end of the line. “If I manage to steal a transport, surely I could be there within an hour.”

Bucky’s heart beat so hard in his ears that he barely made out the second voice on Zemo’s end.

“Zemo,” they warned. It had to be one of the Raft guards.

Zemo’s voice became muffled as he turned away from the phone. “I was just flirting.” Then the voice became clearer again. “What do you think, James?”

James struggled to find his words for a moment, too caught up on Zemo’s jest. “Don’t— Don’t do that.”

“What, flirt?”

Oh my god. “No, I mean… Don’t get into any trouble.”

“Trouble?”

James couldn’t help it as his own smile grew. Madripoor was a mess but now that he thought back to it...

“Well then, I suppose I’ll be good for you and stay put.”

Fucking hell. Zemo was toying with his emotions here. And it wasn’t like James could control his own sharp inhales or the intrusive thoughts. He was drunk for fuck’s sake.

The line went quiet on both their ends. James realized that he found the silence comforting. He hadn’t had a lot of comfortable moments lately.

Then Zemo quietly spoke up again. “Tell me about the dream.”

James sighed. “Really?”

“Yes, James. I could use a distraction myself.”

“Okay.”

And so he started.

The words came slowly, at first. Like the first drops of rain on a summer evening. And then it poured. James didn’t just tell him about what happened in the dreams. Not just about those memories, mixed with fiction. Not just the blood, and the limbs, and the screaming. He also told him about the way the nightmares gnawed at him. How he’d wake up, feeling three times heavier, how he’d end up drinking, trying to forget. Telling him how horrifying it was, waking in the dark, how he tried crying without success, how he had screamed into his pillow, how he’d spent hours hitting a punchbag to exhaust himself enough to fall asleep, how he had to make his way through two bottles of the strongest liquor he could find before he could dim down the shaking enough to even manage to hold his phone. James tried to tell himself that his tongue was loosened by said drinks, but another part knew that wasn’t quite true.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“I don’t know. A lot of it doesn’t affect me that much anymore… so I overcompensated. I think I overdid it. It’s hard to tell.” His head was already starting to throb.

“Don’t drink next time. Call me instead, okay?”

He nodded, forgetting Zemo couldn’t see him. His eyes drifted up to the clock. Four am. They’d been talking for two whole hours.

“I should go,” James said apologetically. “It’s late.”

“I can stay up.”

“No, no. It’s fine.” James held back from thanking him. That was too much.

“Call me anytime James, I have nowhere else to be.”

***

“Why am I here doc?”

James hated being back here. Giving Raynor that list had felt like closure. But no, the government was keen on having him back in this horrible place again. He hated the forest wallpaper. The tree trunks made the room feel more like a prison than anything else. It wasn’t comfortable.

“You decided to stop therapy,” Raynor said, eyeing him over her tablet.

James didn’t let her get to him. “Walker authorized it.”

“Walker no longer has any jurisdiction here.”

“I gave you the list. I finished it. What else is there?”

“Finishing a list does not mean you are done with healing. Not to mention that during your little trip with Sam Wilson, you managed to break all three of the rules. Shall I list just one example for each one?” Without waiting for an answer, she looked down at her tablet and cleared her throat. “One: do nothing illegal.” She looked anything but amused. “You broke a convict out of prison. Two: do no harm. You shot and beat up numerous people in Madripoor. And rule number three…” She looked up at him. “You fought these people as the winter soldier, James. This is not part of your recovery. If anything, it’s set you back miles.”

James closed his eyes for a moment, letting the memory of playing the winter soldier rush through him. That feeling of power, of being able to let go and let it all out. That smile Zemo had given him, the look of pride on his face. He’d felt so fucking powerful again. Alive. What he wouldn’t give to feel it again.

Worth it.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

James opened his eyes again. He gave a half shrug, trying not to smile. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun. He’d known he was breaking every single one of those stupid rules but he hadn't given a single fuck. Zemo had awoken something inside of him. Something akin to childish joy. The kind of intoxicating adrenaline that he welcomed rather than shied away from. Zemo was playful, something new in all this boring everyday greyness.

Raynor gave him an impatient look. “Well?”

“Am I free to go?”

“James… There are consequences to your actions. You of all people should know this.”

“So what, am I going to prison?”

What irony, if he was going to be sent away. If they were serious about this, he’d probably have to go to the Raft, being a super soldier and all. He only just held himself back from chuckling, imagining being brought into a cell right next to Zemo.

“What did you do this time?” He could almost hear the baron ask.

He wagered Zemo would help him escape. An eye for an eye, as it were.

But then James didn’t know if he could live with himself with Zemo still incarcerated. He already regretted turning him in as it was.

“James, are you listening to me?”

Shit. Raynor had been talking. “Hmm?”

“Your… let’s call it ‘lapse in judgment,’ does not warrant prison, but the government’s hold on you has tightened considerably. Which is understandable. You're going to need to make some concessions.”

“What do you mean?”

***

The hangover wasn’t quite as bad as James had expected it to be. It didn’t really compare to the hangovers he barely remembered from back in the day, when he’d only just been a kid. Plus, he could take it slow. It wasn’t like he needed to be anywhere.

Call me anytime James, I have nowhere else to be.

Shit.

The night came back to him like a thunderbolt. He pressed his head into the pillow, trying to suffocate himself. What the fuck had he been thinking? Really? Fucking Zemo?

With a groan, he pulled his phone from his bedside table, quickly sitting up and running a hand through his longer hair. Maybe it had all just been a dream – if it was, then he was definitely worried about his own subconscious - more worried than he already was. But if it hadn’t been a dream…

“Shit.”

Yup, there it was. Call history. Two hours and fifteen minutes.

He tossed his phone onto the table. It landed on the journal he kept. Well, that he was supposed to be keeping. He’d stopped writing in it a few weeks ago.

There was nothing quite as depressing as writing down improvements, and then, a few days later, writing down how you failed again and how you were back to square one.

He ignored the notebook and flung on his bathrobe as he made his way downstairs. It wasn't like he had to be presentable to anyone.

The sun was already shining through the light violet window curtains, which were moving ever so slightly in the summer breeze. It was quite uncanny, to think that only around two months had passed since Madripoor. It felt like years in this glorified prison.

He took his time meandering to the large open kitchen. He was on automatic as he got out the instant coffee, before hesitating and turning to get the ground coffee instead. He pulled the package from the cabinet, ignoring the gun stowed away between the cereals boxes.

Within minutes, the aroma of coffee beans had filled the kitchen and living room. James lounged back on the couch that was too big for just him, taking his time as he sipped the dark, strong coffee. He glanced up at the empty space above the fireplace mantelpiece. Normal people would have mounted up a flat-screen there. But the therapist’s new rules meant no TV.

James couldn’t begin to count how much time he had spent staring at that bare extent of wall, like he was doing a staring contest with it or something.

Thank god he still had a phone, else he would have gone completely insane. He had call privileges, which was good, because that was the only way Sam could reach him. He’d made sure to ask about who he could call. Turned out he could call anyone he wanted, as long as he followed those new and improved golden rules.

Maybe the part of him that had decided to call Zemo wanted to test the limits of what he was allowed to do. Maybe there was a part of him that was still eager to get back at the government and their stupid new version of mandated therapy.

He smirked as he sipped his coffee, imagining the look on Raynor’s face if she knew he had spoken with Zemo of all people, and that those two hours had made him feel better than all of their sessions ever had. Combined.

Once he was done, James strolled into the kitchen again. He tossed his mug into the sink along with the other mugs, still waiting to be washed up. The bin was overflowing again with empty takeaway boxes and wraps. He made a mental note to take out the trash, knowing he’d forget it anyway.

The country house they’d given him wasn’t half bad. It was already furnished and nicely decorated. Like a house out of a pamphlet. It had a spacious and open ground floor with hardwood parquet and lots of large windows with views of the surrounding forest. The basement had a small sports corner and a little wine cellar part, the bedroom upstairs felt open and big. The best part, of course, was the terrace that looked out on the garden and the field beyond. It was from here that he watched thunderstorms in the summer evenings.

During his first weeks at the house, he’d been paranoid that he was being watched, that dangers lurked outside, around every corner. He put up his own measures of security after he’d gone through every nook and cranny looking for cameras and mics. But nothing. It was weird, to be expected to feel safe after being caught off-guard so often.

In the beginning, he used the little gym to train, having at it with the punching bag, imagining Raynor’s face on it. But when no dangers appeared, and as time passed, his anger slowly simmered down.

He grew accustomed to seeing deer at the edge of the forest at sunrise. He became acquainted with every inch of the home, and his nerves settled. He was always ready for a nasty surprise, but he wasn’t spending his days waiting for it. He had enough trouble with his night terrors to be worried about any outside threats.

James forced himself to clean up the mess of empty bottles in his room before settling down on the sofa to start another book. It wasn't like there was much else to do.

He had just opened the novel when his phone on the coffee table buzzed.

He glanced over at the screen. A message from an unknown number.

Setting down the paperback, James leaned forward and picked it up.

Call this number next time. They won’t hear us on this line.

He stared at the words for a moment before replying. Did you steal a phone?

It’s no trouble, James. Like hell it wasn’t. Call this number next time.

Chapter Text

James

He wasn’t quite sober the second time he called. But at least he wasn’t drunk out of his mind. It had been five days since he’d had that insane impulsive idea. To call Zemo. Now, with Friday evening coming to an end, he had once again turned to the bottle, hesitating with the phone at his side. The weekends, for some reason, were when the nightmares hit him the worst. So his go-to was dulling his thoughts with the drinks that he had.

The slightest bit tipsy, James didn’t really overthink things when he pressed the call button.

Zemo picked up almost immediately. “James.”

He had to admit it. It was nice hearing his voice again.

James took a deep breath. “Did you steal a phone?” he asked. He had to clear this up first.

“I didn’t steal anything. Don’t worry James, I did what I had to so that we could speak freely.”

“You’re going to get yourself into trouble.”

“I promised, no trouble. I have contacts here, friends. Let’s just say they returned a favor.” James didn’t even want to know. “Talk to me, James.”

James sat there for a few moments, breathing steadily as he wondered whether this was a good idea.

But then he started talking.

He didn’t know why it came so easy with Zemo. Why it was so easy to let everything out. The frustration of his sleepless nights, the fear of the nightmares, the struggles trying to talk about it to Sam. The fear of sounding like a freak, like a broken record, like a lost cause. The anger and frustration of not noticing any progress. Or seeing improvements and then falling back again.

One story led into the next. And the next. And the next.

James only realized how late it was when he heard an owl howling outside. He glanced up at the clock.

Oh shit.

“It’s like three in the morning.” He’d rung Zemo up around midnight. Which meant they – or rather he – had been talking for three whole hours.

“I’m sorry, James. I shouldn’t have indulged you and kept you up.”

“No. Don’t apologize. This is still better than the nightmares, so...”

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I really didn’t mean to…” James bit his lip nervously. What the hell was he doing with his life? Not only was he sitting around for hours at night, but he was keeping Zemo up as well, blabbering him full of his bullshit. “I lost track of time.”

“It’s nice to hear another voice, James. I cherish every second of it that I can get.”

James tried not to overthink those words. “Bye.”

***

Zemo

Zemo lay awake at night, thinking.

Well, it wasn’t really thinking these days. It was more like waiting. Waiting for the phone to buzz as it rested on his slowly rising and falling chest. He knew the microphone mounted to his cell’s camera wasn't on. A technical error. One they hadn’t bothered fixing. Or maybe they didn’t even know about it. Zemo wasn’t sure.

He easily flew under the radar here, thankfully. Compared to the other… "beings" in this prison, the guards had quickly assumed he was the least dangerous. He wasn’t a super soldier. Not an alien. Not some supernatural creature. He was just… a guy.

It was almost an honor, being in here amongst those feared the most. Not that he thought he deserved that kind of treatment. Not after all the things the avengers had done, getting away scot free for some reason or other, whether it was public support, government support, or just right place right time. But people could be swayed, and Zemo knew more than anyone that opinions could flip. The heroes looked up to could so easily fall to become villains. Those in power, who claimed to have the moral high ground, could so easily be struck down by the will of the people. It was a thin line to tread.

Zemo knew almost the whole world was against him now, but he held on to the hope that one day, they would begin to understand.

The phone buzzed. He quickly answered it, putting it on speaker, making sure it was still hidden under his thin cover. “James.”

“Hey.” James’ voice at the start of the calls always sounded so restrained. Like he was embarrassed, or felt bad for calling. Zemo didn’t know if it was because he didn’t want to share his thoughts, or because he felt guilty about calling him of all people. Or if it was a mix of both.

“I wondered if you would call tonight.”

“Did you? The last time we spoke was literally last night.”

“Well, it’s the weekend. Those days are always the worst. At least for me.”

The other end of the line went quiet. James wasn’t a man of many words. If anything, his silences spoke leagues more than his words did.

The pause now told Zemo that James also had it worse on the weekends, and that perhaps he was surprised that Zemo shared this trait with him.

“How do you deal with it?” he finally asked.

Zemo smiled as he took a deep breath. “I tell myself tomorrow will be better.”

“So you suggest I lie to myself.”

“If it helps.”

Another silence. James was mulling over his words.

“You’re full of crap.”

That made Zemo chuckle. He hadn’t felt this light-hearted in a while. Prison’s greatest harm was in its monotony. The lack of a real daily cycle, of even just the sunlight in the morning, or the moon at night, put everything off balance. Every day was the same. Nothing new ever happened.

Well, that was until, one night, he got woken by some guard, telling him there was a call request coming in for him.

The daze that took him when he was told James Buchanan Barnes had requested it was indescribable. He quickly told the guards he accepted the invitation, following them to the phone booths, confusion rushing through him on the quick walk there. So many ideas crossed his mind, one more unlikely than the next.

Was he hurt? On a mission? Perhaps he needed information. Maybe he wanted to recruit him again.

As soon as the beeping on the line stopped, he recognized the labored breathing. He knew something was off immediately, though he was unsure why James was calling him of all people when he was in such a state.

It dawned on him only as he stood there that he was the only one who understood James. Who knew what it felt like.

What Zemo also knew that they could not talk freely like this, overseen by the guards. After that first call, he pulled in a favor with another inmate and had a phone passed to him. He’d made friends. He knew it was the only way he would survive in here. Befriend the inmates, befriend the guards. Be good. Be charming but not overdo it. Don’t antagonize anyone. Don’t get into trouble.

Well, that last point he threw out of the window as soon as he hung up that first call, knowing he had to smuggle a phone into his cell so he could talk to him again.

James was worth the risk.

“Does it even work for you, lying to yourself?” James asked, bringing Zemo back to the present.

Zemo shrugged, hands behind his head. “Sometimes.”

James grunted. Zemo missed him. Madripoor was fun. Riling James up was fun. He didn’t even know what they were now. Friends? Allies? Some unknown relationship that couldn’t be defined in one word?

James cleared his throat. “Do you get therapy sessions in there?”

Zemo exhaled. “No, we don’t.”

“That’s all kinds of messed up.”

“We don’t need reintegration.”

The implications were clear. They didn’t need reintegration because they weren’t ever meant to go back out.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Tell me about the dreams.”

Zemo listened as James told him. He had no idea why the former winter soldier so easily confided in him. At first, he was surprised he didn’t go to Sam. Or to any other person on this earth.

James was coming to him of all people. James trusted him enough to call. James chose him.

And James spilled his heart out. Told him everything: his dreams, his nightmares, the horrors. The vulnerability that Zemo was privy too left him stunned at times. But he stayed on the line.

As James' stories unraveled, it was clear why no one else could take Zemo’s place. James didn't trust anyone other than Sam, but Sam expected too much of him, and even he would have recoiled, hearing some of these stories, especially told by a friend. But Zemo didn't shy away, not even from the darkest parts, though his chest ached in sympathy for James. At times, he wished he could be there in person to soothe him, to somehow alleviate the pain - though Zemo wasn't sure how he would even manage to do that. All he knew was that he wanted to try.

Even if James initially always called about nightmares, most of the nights he spent telling Zemo anything and everything. He had no one else to talk to.

This was something else Zemo could empathize with: James' loneliness, because he felt the same way. Well, had felt that way, until James had called that first time. Even just hearing another voice through the phone, knowing that at least one person – other than Oeznik – still remembered that he existed, filled his chest with a warmth that he had long forgotten.

Whenever James called, Zemo drank in every damn second on the line. New life washed through him as they spoke. Like he’d been asleep and had woken up. Or had held his breath under this water and was now breathing fresh air again.

He was still in his cell but James made him forget that, a few hours at a time.

And he knew it was a rare luxury, to have a conversation with another person here of all places, to have something to look forward to. Something that for once took his mind off his own incarceration instead of feeding into the hopelessness of it all.

And now, speaking with James, trying to help him with his problems, Zemo also had a chance to prove that he meant it. That he was willing to help, if he could. That he had a code. That he would strive to undo his wrongs, despite the fact that James had implied they were even at the memorial. Zemo still wanted to help.

***

James

It happened once in a while. Maybe twice a week. Give or take.

He’d wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, thoughts spinning from the dreams, fingers fumbling for the phone. In contrast to Sam, he didn’t feel as bad waking Zemo up. And Zemo didn’t seem to mind either. James would talk to him for about an hour and then simply hang up again, body and mind recovered and settled once more.

Other times, James would call him like he did in the beginning, late at night, from the corner of his room. That was where he sat, facing the bed, wanting anything other than to shut his eyes. He’d promised not to drink his thoughts away. He’d promised to call instead. So Zemo it was.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“You may have the serum running through your veins, but I believe you still need to sleep.”

“You sound like my therapist.”

The distant sound of thunder rumbled through the room, the rain pattering softly against the window.

“Speaking of which,” Zemo started, “You asked me about therapy a few calls ago. What about you? Are you still in therapy?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Tell me.”

***

James tried to stay composed, tapping his metal finger against the sofa’s armrest. “So if I’m understanding this correctly, you’re giving me house arrest.”

“Not quite, James. The US government believes this is in the best interest of all parties. You get to have your peace, and —”

“You don’t have to deal with a loose cannon. I get it.” James took a deep breath. “What I don’t get is why you signed off on this. Weren’t you the one who said being alone is like a personal hell?”

Raynor sighed, her hands crossing over her stupid tablet. “You know I’ve really tried to help you integrate, but we both know that it hasn’t been working. We need a different approach.”

“That’s what you want me to believe? They just want me off the grid, end of story.”

“You need to learn to trust others. To trust me. We’re trying to help you.”

James let out a chuckle of disbelief, biting his lip as he shook his head. “Whole lotta help this was, doc.”

“Which is exactly why we’re changing things up. You won’t have mandatory therapy sessions anymore. You will have homework, but you will be in control. You will be able to decide how much you do and when.”

“Sounds like a fun time all-around.”

“Mr. Barnes.” Raynor gave him her signature frown. “You said you wanted peace. This is your chance to make that peace.”

“And what if it doesn’t work?” He glanced out of the window, refusing to meet his shrink’s eyes. It was raining like crazy out there, the drops so dense it was hard to see, the world fogged in. “What if it really does become my personal hell?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Ironic words to have come out of the therapist’s mouth, considering the fact that things had exponentially gotten worse since they’d shipped him off to the two-story one-bedroom country house. Like a nice-looking personalized prison for the insane. Only the doors weren’t locked and he wasn’t technically under house arrest. He could run across the fields and forests that surrounded him as far as the eye could see. The nearest town was something like five miles away. He could call a cab any time, leave and get back to the city, to the buzz. He had that choice.

The only reason he was staying was because he “trusted” his fucking therapist. He trusted them when they said that someday, things would get better. And he’d promised to stay until things were better. And Sam had urged him to at least “try.” So he tried. He’d tried and he’d fucking suffered, alone. Setting aside the torture that was meditation and the night terrors, it was the not knowing that gnawed at him. The waiting for something to change. For actual progress. To see the light at the end of the tunnel. But for all he knew, he’d be stuck away from everyone and everything until the end of time.

Of course he didn’t tell Sam or his shrink about any of this. He dulled the nightmare stories when he called Sam, he avoided answering direct questions about how he was doing. James wasn’t going to give in and abandon this. He was going to see this through.

No matter how much it hurt, he was going to stay.

***

It was slightly past one in the morning when James was done telling Zemo about the not-house-arrest. But he didn’t want to hang up just yet. Because hanging up meant falling asleep and falling asleep, well…

So James just sat there, waiting. They were quiet for a while. James wondered whether Zemo was going to ask him to hang up. Then he wondered what would happen if he just stayed on the line. If Zemo would ever hang up on him.

He suspected that Zemo would just stay there forever, as eager to be in contact with someone as James as eager to stay up, even if they didn't exchange any words.

But then, after a while, the baron spoke up again. “Are you in bed?”

“What?” James felt blood rush to his cheeks.

“James, I don’t know what you could possibly be confused about. It’s a very simple question.”

Bucky’s mind was racing, unable to form words, his breaths coming in fast from the unexpected question.

“Well? Yes or no? Are you in bed right now?”

“Why—”

“If you’re in bed, put me on speaker. Set down the phone next to you and lie down.”

James finally remembered how to breathe again. Right. Okay. He hesitated for a moment before getting up. He settled down into the bed that was way too big for him. He placed the phone down on the empty space to his left.

Why was he doing this again?

Did it matter?

He slumped down. Once on his back, he realized how tired he was. His limbs were exhausted, eyelids heavier than steel.

“Let me tell you a little story...”

He was gone before Zemo even started.

***

Bucky’s eyes fluttered open to a dark room. It had stopped raining. His eyes glanced over to the space next to him, at his phone on the mattress. He tapped the screen. The call was still ongoing.

James frowned. “Zemo?”

He heard a sudden inhale on the other end. “Hm?”

“I fell asleep, sorry.”

“That was the point, James.”

“Oh. Right. Good night, Zemo.”

“Sleep, James.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. James hung up and dropped right back into the deepest dreamless sleep he’d ever had.

***

It became a habit. Or perhaps a ritual.

James stopped turning to the bottle entirely, always calling Zemo instead, finding himself dialing him up earlier and earlier each time, first at midnight, then at ten. Then it was in the evening, then it was right after dinner. He found himself chatting throughout the evening and into the night.

Every time they talked, Zemo made sure they didn’t continue the call too late into the night. So James placed the phone on speaker and lay down next to it, listening to that accent-heavy voice lull him to sleep as he read books to him.

A part of James knew that Zemo could use his semi-conscious state to his advantage, manipulate him while he was falling asleep. For a time, he mentally prepared himself for it, but James never heard a word of Russian leave the baron’s mouth.

One night, Zemo's reading found its way into James' dreams. Zemo was lying next to him, and he kept talking. Half-asleep, James turned on his side, arm flailing to find the baron’s warm body, to cover his mouth and get him to shut up. But his hand only found the empty side of the bed and the smooth surface of his phone. Grudgingly, he forced his eyes to open as he roused to the waking world. He looked at the screen, realizing that in his movement, he’d accidentally hung up on him.

***

“Sorry about that,” James said, holding the phone against his ear with his shoulder as he made himself pancakes. He usually only grabbed the first cereal he could find, but he was feeling livelier than usual today. So good, in fact, he’d gone out for a jog in the fresh morning before hitting the shower. Actually taking care of himself. Who’d have thought.

Fact of the matter was that he wanted to feel refreshed before talking to the baron. He could almost feel the way Zemo would have judged him if he had seen him walking around with his sweat-soaked shorts, hair uncombed.

“Sorry I hung up on you like that,” he continued.

“You needn’t apologize, James.”

He flipped the pancake in the air. “And sorry… about leaving you hanging all the time. I just fall asleep so fast sometimes.”

“That’s a good thing, James. It’s quite literally the point.”

“I know, I know. But for you, it’s—”

“It doesn’t matter, James.”

“It does,” James insisted, letting the fluffy cake glide onto his plate. He grabbed a handful of fruit and sprinkled it on top before dousing the thing in maple syrup. Fucking hell. His stomach grumbled. He had to indulge himself like this more often. “Do you want—” James started before stopping himself mid-question. Fuck. He pinched his nose. He was an idiot.

“Do I want what?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, nothing.”

James had wanted to ask him if he wanted a pancake too. You’re an idiot, James.

“I gotta go.” James hoped Zemo couldn’t tell he was lying this time.

“Call me if... if there's anything at all.”

“I will, Zemo. Thank you.”

Chapter Text

James

“So. Shall we go over the new rules a last time? Rule number one.”

James stared at his therapist. “No missions.”

“Right. You’re not a part of that world anymore. You’re a civilian. Rule number two?”

“No checking the news.”

“No being tempted to fight. Rule number three?”

“I call you if and only if I feel ready, or if I can’t take it anymore.” Like James was every going to give in that easily. Raynor would be the last to hear if James was in psychological pain. He would never admit to her any of it, no matter how bad. He wasn’t weak. He could do this. Not to mention that he couldn’t dare fail again. He was going to see this through no matter what.

“Call me only if you’re ready, James. If you’re absolutely sure you can fully re-integrate. This is a good thing. You have the agency to decide when you’re ready and you won’t have anyone bothering you until you do. Call me when you’re ready. But only if you’re absolutely sure.”

“And if they need me?”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, the government or Sam, or anyone?”

His therapist remained stoic. “James. Let it go.”

James leaned back in the sofa, fists tight in his jacket pockets. Who was he kidding. His question was useless anyway. He doubted anyone other than Sam would even remember he existed once he was off the radar.

Raynor frowned at him and set down her stylus pen. He wondered what she wrote about him, what his file looked like. Or if she doodled in boredom during their sessions. “Why do you jump at every opportunity to fight?”

He shrugged. “Because I can help.”

“And what do you get in return?”

James took a deep breath and shrugged again, feeling his chest grow cold.

I get nothing in return.

But did it matter? He knew he could help. It wasn’t about some reward. He had super serum running through his veins for crying out loud. So help was what he did. And it wasn't like he knew what else to do with himself. He wasn’t good at anything else. Plus the fighting allowed him to take his mind off things.

And he gathered that was the one thing he wasn’t supposed to do – take his mind off things.

“James. You need to get out of the city, out of the constant rush. You’ve been running and fighting for as long as you can remember. You need to learn how to breathe. You need to learn how to live again. Find yourself, help yourself recuperate from what you have endured. Let your body and mind recover so that you can return to normality – with a sound mind.” She paused, giving him time to take that in. What she said next made him want to crawl into a hole. “You need to face yourself. Face your past in a calm and controlled environment. Come to terms with what you’ve been through. Otherwise, things are only going to get worse.”

So that was what this was: a “mental” retreat, for him to “recover” and “find himself.”

***

The worst nights were the ones where the terrors returned like they’d never left. James woke with his chest heaving, sweating like he’d been running for miles. He clenched the mattress, trying to ground himself, to calm down, to get those flashbacks out of his mind. When that didn’t help, he snatched his phone from the bedside table, always in arm’s reach, dialing the only number on his recent list.

It was instinct now, it was fast, it was before he could think, before he’d even come down from that horrid high, adrenaline pumping through him, but the horrifying kind, the one he hated so much. He tried to tell his body that he didn’t need to fight. That he was safe. But he couldn't get it to listen to him. And the flashes, they kept —

“Please,” he gasped quietly, as soon as Zemo picked up, “talk to me.”

“The lunch today was horrendous, James.”

“Really?” James was gasping for air, like he’d plunged into icy waters and his lungs weren’t playing along. Breathe in, James reminded himself. Breathe out. “What did you have?”

“The usual,” Zemo continued without missing a beat, “green peas, some kind of meat, and mashed potatoes, but between you and I, James, I’m quite sure that paste was not made of real potatoes.”

“Oh yeah?” James hurriedly smeared away sweat from his forehead, fingers shaking. “What makes you say that?” His shirt was fucking drenched.

“The taste, oh James,” Zemo sighed. “I would have loved to see your face if you tried it. For one, the texture. Lumps, James. Lumps and clumps. The paste was barely warm and the taste, well, if you can call it taste… practically as dull as paper. It was monstrous.”

“Sounds fun.”

“James. It was a horrifying experience. I wish they allowed us to cook here.”

“You know how to cook?”

“Please, James,” Zemo laughed. James realized then that his breathing had settled. For the last few seconds, he hadn’t been thinking about breathing at all. “I should cook something for you.”

James exhaled, another wave of calm passing through him. “What would you cook for me?”

“Oh James.” The chuckle Zemo let out then was something James hadn’t heard before. It felt easy going, something shared between the two of them in confidence. There was a vulnerability to it James had never been privy to before. It made his heart ache. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Humor me.”

So Zemo began, listing dishes, varying from Italian to Sokovian. James didn’t know half of what he was describing, but he didn’t care. He closed his eyes, knocked his head against the headboard, and just listened to the baron’s voice ground him, all while his heart began to slow down, the sweat turning cold.

“- then perhaps some Paprikash. And of course some indulgences for desert. Maybe waffles with fresh berries and homemade sorbet.”

“I need to shower,” James blurted out. He had meant to say it to himself, but only realized he’d said it out loud after the fact. The line went quiet. “Sorry… I’m just… I was sweating a lot, and...”

“Night terrors.” It wasn’t a question, not really.

Bucky's voice sounded hoarse when he spoke. “Yeah.”

“It’s not your fault.”

James rubbed his eyes, looking up at the clock. Almost four in the morning. We have to stop meeting like this. “I know.”

“This doesn’t mean you’re back to square one.”

James clenched his teeth. Lies. “I know.”

“It happens. It will happen again.”

James nodded. He needed to shower, but he didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay on the line.

“Zemo?”

“Yes?”

James hesitated. He didn’t know what he wanted to ask. He didn’t even know what he wanted in general. “If you’re ever around, I’d love to have a taste.” He sighed before quickly adding, “of those dishes, I mean.” Another exhale. “Listen, I gotta shower. I’ll just be a minute, if—”

“I can wait, James, take your time.”

“Thanks.”

James hurried up and undressed on his way to the en-suite bathroom, keeping the door open, as if to avoid severing their connection.

It was only after stepping into the steaming water, as he began rinsing away the memories of the dreams, that he realized he could have just hung up and called back after, instead of just keeping him on the line. So Zemo could listen to him shower.

Idiot!

But it wasn’t like Zemo had complained or proposed he end the call, so he went on with his shower, letting the warm water cover his face, closing his eyes as he ran his fingers through the hair that was growing longer each day. He thought about Zemo, waiting on his bed. Well… not literally.

He wondered where he was – of course James knew he was in his cell, but he wondered where exactly. At a desk? Sitting on his bed? Lying?

At the thought, shivers raced up his spine. He could almost feel the heat of the baron’s body, just thinking about him. On some calls, it really felt like they were in the same room. In the same bed. It almost felt like he could feel Zemo’s breath on his neck. His voice, whispering in his ear, just like in the dream where James had thought Zemo was really there. He had those semi-conscious dreams often, when Zemo read to him. It felt reassuring to have that presence.

James wondered how it would feel if that presence was real.

He knocked his head against the tiles, losing himself in the fantasy of seeing him again. How it would feel like, if Zemo was here, talking him down in person, looking him in the eyes. Reassuring him with a hand on his shoulder, a hand on his chest. Would Zemo even be willing to help him, if he could? Come to think of it, why was Zemo even indulging his night calls at all? Once or twice, alright, but this had been going on for over a month now. This was getting way out of hand but neither of them were showing any signs of wanting their little calls to stop.

And in the end, did the reason for Zemo's indulgence really matter?

If he picked up, all the better. James was using him as a means to an end but it wasn’t like Zemo was complaining about it.

James wasn’t going to feel guilty about calling. But he had to stop losing himself in thoughts of Zemo coming in person, because that wasn’t going to happen.

James turned off the shower, quickly drying himself before pulling on new shorts. He grabbed the phone and balanced it on his shoulder as he changed the sheets.

“You still there?” he asked quietly. He wondered if Zemo had fallen asleep.

“Still there,” came the sly voice.

James threw the sheets aside and dug around for new ones, aiming for the lavender ones. They fit the window curtains.

James worried his bottom lip before slowly diving into the fresh bed, laying his phone next to him and putting Zemo on speaker.

“I’m back in bed.” The words came so easily now, where in the past he might have worried too much about their suggestiveness.

“Good.” It was the way Zemo said the praise that made James blush. So much for not worrying about being suggestive. “Do you want me to read again?”

James cleared his throat. “If you want to.”

“I always do.”

James closed his eyes, pushing away that fluttering feeling in his chest. “I prefer the Sokovian stories.”

He felt Zemo smile on the other end of the line. “I know, as do I.”

And so the baron began reading out loud, James letting himself fall asleep to the soothing voice.

It was weird, because one second he was lying in bed, and the next, he was standing. But he wasn’t in his room anymore. He was in Berlin, standing in front of a glass wall.

For a moment, there was only darkness beyond.

But then he heard a voice, muttering words he didn’t understand.

A figure rose from the darkness in front of him. Zemo, just as he remembered, with that slight stubble, and that hair...

James took a step back, throat suddenly dry.

What am I doing here?

He wasn’t sure why his heart was suddenly pounding so fast.

Excitement? Fear?

Why was he here?

Zemo continued to cautiously step towards him as his lips moved, speaking words in another language. Then, magically, he stepped right through the glass, like it was nothing more than air. James continued stepping back.

“How...” he muttered in confusion, more to himself than to the baron. What was he doing here? Didn’t he already get Zemo out of prison? Why was he here again?

“James.”

James backed into the wall, but it wasn’t the cold concrete wall of the prison. His surroundings shifted. This was… and he was – no, they – were suddenly in his room?

James sighed when a warm hand cupped his cheek, the baron tilting his head as he analyzed his face. James watched him, the details of his face so clear. And then fingers were running through his strands and Bucky’s eyes fluttered. A sound escaped him that he hadn’t meant to make.

He quickly placed his hand over Zemo’s warm fingers.

The baron continued to speak so softly, voice like a lullaby.

Bucky’s other hand rose to grab Zemo’s collar, steadily pulling him closer. It felt nice, to have him like a shield to ward off the cold outside world.

“Will you stay with me?” he heard himself ask. Bucky's surrounding felt all blurry, but Zemo had never felt more real, that beautiful face swimming in front of him.

“I will stay with you,” the baron said. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be.”

James had a hard time believing those words, but Zemo’s eyes looked genuine. Truth be told, his eyes were really big, practically taking up all James’ field of vision.

James realized this was because his face was inches away from his own.

He didn’t know what he was thinking when he suddenly dove down and kissed him, hard. His heart galloped in his chest as his hands gripped the fabric of Zemo’s shirt. At long last, his mouth tasted what had been just out of reach for so fucking long.

He didn’t know what had given him to the courage to do it, but it felt good to finally let it all out. And it didn’t matter that he wasn’t really sure where he was or what he was doing.

It was all hard to keep track of.

It was hard of keep track of anything now.

Of space, of time, of his own emotions.

They were a whirlwind, passing through him like a tornado. He frowned into the kiss when he realized that he didn’t know how had Zemo even gotten into his room. Wasn’t he at the Raft?

But the questions were forgotten the second Zemo pulled him from the wall and stepped him back into the bed. And suddenly James was on his back and Zemo was on top of him and they were making out again. The kisses grew longer, deeper, taking James’ breath away, making him feel weightless.

James felt that sly tongue finally being put to good use. The thought of it made him chuckle as his knuckles grabbed Zemo’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him afloat.

It’d been so long since anyone had touched him. Anyone he’d wanted to touch. James couldn’t even remember the last time he’d wanted anyone to touch him. The last time he’d French kissed anyone must have been in the forties. He wasn’t sure if it had ever felt this good.

He couldn’t focus on the past for long, though. The baron’s hands and fingers were everywhere, tracing his skin like he wasn’t wearing any clothes at all. It felt intimate, so fucking intimate. Maybe it should have felt wrong, but right now it felt so fucking good James didn’t give a fuck about anything else.

With those fingers everywhere at once, James couldn’t help the sounds that escaped him, the desperate moans with every caress, with every kiss that seemed to pull his soul right out through his mouth. He had no idea hands could roam like that, press into him like that.

It felt divine and yet every whine that escaped made him blush, because what if Zemo heard him?

But why did he even care? Zemo was the one touching him and kissing him. Surely he wanted to hear him.

“James?”

“Zemo,” he sighed. “Please.”

It was a prayer. Zemo’s lips met his and another sound escaped him, hips bucking up to meet his. This was heaven.

Don’t leave me.

He woke with a small gasp, body warm, skin still tingling where he’d been touched in his dream. Fuck. Holding his breath, he spun to the phone beside him.

He tapped the screen.

One hour, six minutes, twenty seconds and counting.

He was still on the fucking call.

Shit.

His face grew hot. It didn’t matter. It had all just been a dream. Zemo couldn’t have heard him moan, because he had only made those sounds in the dream. Right?

Right?

“Zemo?” he whispered, terrified of hearing his voice reply.

“James?”

Fuck.

“Fell asleep again,” he croaked.

“That’s good.” Was Zemo’s voice more strained than usual, or was James just paranoid?

“You should… probably get some rest too.”

“I can stay up if you need me to.” There was definitely a low rasp to Zemo’s voice, something James couldn’t place.

“No, it’s okay. Sleep, Zemo.”

A pause. “Alright. Call me, if there’s anything at all.”

“I will.”

“Good night, James.”

“Good night, Zemo.”

James hit the red button. FUCK.

***

Zemo

There was no way Zemo was going to sleep tonight. He stared up at the ceiling he knew every inch of by now.

James always fell asleep fast when he read him one of the books on his shelf. He tried not to take it personally, that his voice would be so boring as to immediately induce sleep.

No, but Zemo understood. It was about the comfort of a familiar voice.

Besides, it was nice, reading out loud, and knowing he could help at the same time.

It would have reminded him of reading bedtime stories to Carl if there wasn’t this other sensation that crept into his veins as he read.

These night calls felt… intimate in a way Zemo couldn’t describe.

This time, it had been the same as always. He’d started reading, and could hear the faint but regular breathing on the other line. As usual, he kept going for a while, just to make sure James was really out of it.

That’s when he heard the mutter. Faint, almost a mumble: “Wha?”

“James?”

Zemo listened in. James’ breathing was growing faster. He wasn’t awake, that was for sure. Which could only mean one thing: that he was dreaming.

Zemo hesitated but stayed on the line. There was no saying if he was having a nightmare. Zemo didn’t know if he could bear to stand by and listen to him be in pain. Zemo decided he’d try and wake him at any signs of discomfort.

And yet, at the same time, listening to James mumble felt like an invasion of privacy. Zemo was just about to hang up when he heard it.

“Will’stay with me?”

Zemo held his breath. Or had his lungs stopped cooperating? Who was James talking to? Was it Steve? Sam? Someone else entirely? Did it matter?

“I will stay with you,” he croaked, impersonating whoever was in Bucky’s dream. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be.”

He still couldn’t breathe, feeling his chest compress. There was no relief that came with the confession. Only fear of rejection.

But it didn’t come. Instead, James’ breathing became faster, until a high pitched sound left his lips at every exhale.

Oh.

Oh.

James was moaning.

Blood rushed to Zemo’s face. His finger hovered over the end call button, wavering as he overheard James. His own heart was racing, aching. Something was coursing through his veins, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Well, maybe something akin to how he’d felt when James had put his hand around his throat on his private jet, or grabbed the tea glass from his hand and smashed it behind him.

“James?” he asked quietly.

“Z’mo, please,” he heard.

Zemo completely blanked out. For maybe the first time in his life, he was completely speechless.

In the end Zemo was too caught up in his own daze to tap the screen and do the right thing.

And now he was too much in a daze to sleep, James’ moans echoing in his head without remorse.

***

James

The bright morning didn’t give him the clarity or the relief he’d hoped for. He’d had a fucking wet dream about Zemo. And like that wasn’t enough, he’d been on a call with the damn guy while he’d been asleep having said dream.

After a long breakfast of debating his idea, he dialed him up.

It was weird, not calling him late at night. Sometimes he had moments where he wasn’t sure if he had ever called Zemo at all, or if it had all been a dream, a drunken hallucination.

But no, it was all real. Zemo picked up the phone. “James? What is it?”

James took a deep breath. “Did you sleep well?” he asked, trying to get the attention off him.

“Like a rock. It is a pleasant surprise hearing your voice again, so soon.”

A pleasant surprise. James took a stuttering breath. Fuck, why did Zemo have to say shit like that?

“I don’t know if calling at night is such a good idea.” There. He had said it.

“It has been helping you, has it not?”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know… You’re up all night, and—”

“My pleasure, James.” Zemo’s words made Bucky’s heart race. My pleasure. Pleasure. “I have few people I can talk to here. I cherish every call we have.”

Cherish.

James snapped out of it. He had to stop fucking over-analyzing every word the baron said. “I just… with the phone on the bed… it’s just… inconvenient.”

“What are you saying, James?”

James cursed at himself. “I dunno. I’m just… this would be easier with you here in person.” Before Zemo had time to answer, James quickly added, “and listen, I’m not blessing you to break out or anything. I’m just saying.”

“Well perhaps I can come to you properly.”

“What does that even mean?” James had a hunch that Zemo still meant something illegal.

“I’d need your help though.”

James made a sound of discontent before Zemo continued.

“I passed the psych evaluations. I’ve had an official hearing. Though my act of course cannot be forgiven, at the very least, there’s now a clear understanding of why I did the things that I did. I am no worse than many of your galaxy guarding superheroes. But I have a code and I have made that clear. We share the same enemy. But, be it as it may, there is a lack of trust involved when it comes to the authorities. Which means I’m going to need a bit more to convince the ones on top.”

“Convince them to what exactly? To just let you go?”

“Not let me go, no, but grant me parole. With house arrest and community service. A service such as, I don’t know, perhaps helping a renowned hero recuperate from his PTSD?”

Bucky’s heart hammered in his chest. He had to be joking, right? “Really?”

Zemo chuckled. “Yes. But like I said. I’ll need your help to help convince a friend of yours to put in a good word for me to those in charge. Say, the very symbol of America.”

“So I’m helping you get out of prison. Again.”

James heard Zemo smile before he even spoke. “You said it, not I.”

Chapter Text

James

Sam reacted the exact way James had expected him to: pretty much just as he had in Berlin.

James fiddled around with his beer as he sat on the porch, Sam walking up and down in front of him in pure and utter frustration and disbelief, cursing under his breath.

“Sam. Even you can’t deny it. You saw how well we worked together in Madripoor —”

“Worked together?” Sam halted to turn to him. “Worked together? Are you- are you hearing yourself right now? Do you even remember anything from that trip at all? You were at each other’s throat half of the time. Lord knows I still don’t understand why you thought it was not only a good idea to break him out of prison, but that it even just crossed your mind in the first place.”

“Fine, so we had our moments. But he never stabbed us in the back or tried to kill us, even if he did have countless opportunities to do so. He sticks to his principles. Like I said, he has a code. The same we have, Sam.”

“Don’t you dare compare us with him.”

“Sam. I need his help. Last time I got him out behind your back. This time, I’m asking.”

Sam hesitated. “This is a bad idea, Buck. He knows you’re vulnerable and he’s going to use it against you. He’s done it before.”

“Before. That was years ago. We didn’t even know each other. And he’s aware that he can’t get to me anymore. And he doesn’t have any reason to.” James sighed. “Besides, you warned me he was going to mess with my head last time and things turned out just fine.”

“We were lucky and he did mess with you. Need I quote what he said to Selby, how he played around with you?” James’s chest warmed at the memories. He knew he wasn’t supposed to feel like this about it, but he indulged in the feeling anyway. He took a swig of his drink even if these normal drinks didn’t affect him. “You don’t know he won’t pull something shady again.”

“Look, I trust him, alright?”

“You trust him!” Sam laughed in disbelief. “You trust the guy who turned you back into the Winter Soldier, who used you.”

“Who helped us. Who didn’t betray us.” James sighed. “I know for you it seems like a long shot, but…” James held his breath before letting out the words. “I really think he can help me.” James held Sam’s gaze. He really meant this. “I think he can help me, Sam. Please, can you at least put in a good word? For me?”

Sam bit his lip. James had never seen him look so annoyed. But that usually meant he had cracked. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

“Yes! Thank you,” Bucky beamed at him. He rose up and grabbed Sam's arm to pull in him into a big hug, patting his back. “Thank you, Sam.”

Sam cursed under his breath. “Zemo. Got to be fucking kidding me. Of everyone on this goddamn planet.”

***

Zemo

Zemo sat on his bed, elbows on his knees, tapping his fingers together in quiet contemplation. It had been over a week since their last call. Since Zemo had finally proposed his plan to James. After that night he had overheard him… dreaming…

He shook his head, trying to get the heat to retreat from his cheeks. He couldn’t think of that right now. He had to think strategically.

It had been a risk, the proposition. He wasn’t sure how Bucky felt about him being let outside of the Raft. But James had sounded somewhat sorry for him being imprisoned during their late night conversations, so Zemo had taken his chance.

But now, after days with no sound from him, no update, nothing, doubts began to creep into Zemo’s mind. Maybe James assumed this was some game, some manipulation for Zemo to make a run for it. And if Zemo came to James personally, there was always the risk that he would betray the former Winter Soldier, perhaps even take advantage of him. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

It all rested on whether or not James trusted him. Did James trust him enough? Did he trust himself enough to go through with it? Or was the guilt too strong, with Wakanda? Or was his shame too strong, to think about contemplating, let alone accepting, the help of Zemo, of all people?

There were so many variables. And that was not even starting with Sam Wilson. And Ross, and the government, and his therapist. If they even could be swayed to agree to this, officially.

His record at the Raft so far had been clean, he did everything asked of him. Didn’t look for trouble, was respectful of the guards. Didn’t try to get out, despite the occasional ideas and schemes running through his head every now and again. But what for? To live off the grid and on the run for the rest of his life? What good was there in that?

He wanted to do things right, but the Raft was torture.

A door creaked open from beyond his cell. Zemo looked up, standing up before he could hold himself back. He stepped up to the glass.

Sam appeared in the light, his usual scowl on his face.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Zemo said casually, even though his pulse was beating in his chest. The last time his heart had raced so fast was when Zemo had overheard… but he couldn’t think about that now. The question remained: was James here with Sam? Zemo wouldn’t even know how he would react if he was. “What tidings of the world?”

“Cut the crap, Zemo. Where’s the phone?”

Zemo sighed. “Has it ever hurt to ask nicely?”

When Sam kept frowning at him, Zemo sighed again. He stepped up to his bed and grabbed the flip-phone from the cut he'd made in the mattress. Dramatically, he showed it to Sam and placed it into the pass-through door.

Sam kept his eyes on Zemo, even as he pulled open the small compartment and took the device. Sam held it up at him, looking at him like a disappointed parent. “How did you get this?”

Zemo clasped his hands together, trying to hold back from smiling too much. “A friend.”

“You’re always up to something. I don’t like it.”

“It gets boring in here, Sam. I thought you of all people would understand.”

“Well boring is the least you deserve after all the things you pulled.”

Zemo tilted his head. “Is that truly what you believe? And who are you to decide what I deserve?” He looked him up and down. “Isn’t that how gods talk?” Throwing his words right back at him. Oh, the satisfaction. “And if that’s how you feel about punishment for the things I pulled, what about James?”

Sam snarled at him, looking down at the phone with a grimace. “I better not find any explicit pics on here, I swear to god,” he said before pocketing the phone.

Enough with the beating around the bush. Zemo straightened his head again. “You’re here about him, aren’t you?”

“I’m here because of him. The only reason I’m here at all is because I trust him. And don’t think for a second that this means I trust you.”

“Dully noted.”

The door at the back of the hall opened again, two armed guards making their way to the cell.

The red light over the glass wall of Zemo’s cell turned green and the glass door clicked open.

Zemo stood still, not quite following what in the world was going on.

“Well,” Sam sighed. “You coming?”

***

James, two days earlier

“Thank you for coming at our request.” The presiding officer of the committee smiled, leaning forward on the desk. The office room looked immaculate, not a speck of dust in sight. A dark blue carpet, plants, a big wooden oval desk, silver pens arranged in a line next to the information packets, ten board members quietly sitting there. All looking at him. “So. You have requested a conditional parole of Helmut Zemo. We wished to have you here in person to exchange before agreeing on our final decision.”

Bucky nodded, finding a new interest in a wood splinter poking out from the edge of the desk, his hands tight in his jacket pockets. He hadn’t taken off the layer despite the comfortable warmth. It felt like added protection, readying him for the inevitable rejection of the proposal. He was glad Sam had flown him out, that he’d offered to accompany him to the meeting. To this bureau so that some strangers who had no idea about any of their history could decide to reject or accept the parole agreement.

It had felt weird to fly again, to leave the not-house-arrest prison. But it was exceptional. Raynor was aware of it. She’d been the one to require the board to sign off on this - if they agreed to it. But James knew it was a waste of time. There was no way these people were going to say yes. He didn't know what he'd been thinking, officially requesting Zemo to help him.

He'd become fucking delusional.

He didn’t look at the officer, even when she spoke.

“Why him?” she asked, opening the file as if she hadn’t combed through it with the rest of the committee for hours, maybe even days. James’ eyes glanced up, peeking a glance at the black and white head-shot of Zemo.

His chest ached.

He forced his eyes back to the edge of the desk, focusing so intensely on the splinter that the rest of his vision turned dark. He pretended he wasn’t in his body anymore. That he wasn’t here right now.

Sam spoke up for him, thankfully.

“Zemo is the only who gets to Bucky, for some reason. The therapy hasn’t helped.” Thank goodness Raynor wasn’t here in person. “I’m not sure what to do either. For some reason, Zemo’s the only one who manages to get through to him.”

“And how exactly did he get through to him? Isn’t he presently at the Raft?”

Sam hesitated. “Phone calls.”

James was still mesmerized by the piece of desk, but his mouth somehow moved on its own. “He helps with the nightmares.”

He could feel the attention of everyone on the board turn to him, but he ignored it.

The chairwoman spoke up again. “And you think he can help you recover?”

“Yes,” James croaked. He wasn’t sure if he believed it himself, but he was willing to give it a shot. Even if it was just to spite his therapist’s stupid rules. She’d never said anything about letting someone move in with him. Even if nothing came of this, it was amusing witnessing her pretend to actually consider it.

“Well, shall we make a final deliberation?”

The murmurs in the room faded into the background as James pulled out his hand from his pocket and made it his mission to chip away at the table with his vibranium hand, one little bit at a time, where nobody could see. He could crush the table with one hit if he wanted to. But instead, he sat there quietly, resolving to break their little rules bit by bit. Defying them a tiny step at a time, just enough to scratch that itch, but not enough to warrant sanctions.

Someone cleared their throat.

A voice spoke.

“Since your therapist has approved of this, we will sign the parole agreement.”

James jerked up to glare at the woman. “What?”

Had he heard that right?

She smiled at him. “The conditions have been agreed to by all relevant parties, including this board.”

James wasn’t sure he was in the right timeline.

“As agreed,” one of the board members began, “this parole is dependent on Helmut Zemo’s house arrest at the given address. Any violation of the house arrest or any suspicious activity whatsoever will be considered a breach of the parole, and he will be on the next flight to the Raft. We’ll need trustworthy eyes on the subject to confirm his continued compliance, which is where Sam Wilson comes into play.”

Yeah, because unlike him, James wasn’t trustworthy. He was a loose cannon. He was insane.

“I’ll check on Bucky every Sunday,” Sam confirmed. “To make sure he’s doing okay, check up on him, make sure Zemo isn’t being devious.”

Another officer continued. “You are not to team up, carry out any vigilante mission whatsoever. No second chances will be given. The responsibility of Helmut Zemo relies solely on James Barnes and Sam Wilson. If he breaches the contract or runs away, you will be held responsible. The United Nations will be made aware of this deal, but your exact address will remain anonymous for your own safety. Only Sam and this council will know. Do you understand and agree to these terms and conditions?”

James was somewhere else when Sam nudged his shoulder. “James.”

“Hmm?”

The man repeated himself. “Do you understand and accept to these terms and conditions?”

“I do.”

***

“Do you understand and agree to these terms and conditions?”

The words brought James right back to the present.

The hovercraft had landed on the field in front of his porch, two guards now removing the shackles from Zemo’s ankles and wrists, which had been tied together by a chain.

From the moment James saw him being marched down from the craft, he’d been whisked back to Berlin, lost in his thoughts so much he’d completely blanked out.

But as he blinked, he came back, seeing him standing right fucking there, in the flesh.

This wasn’t a memory, and not a dream either.

He fought the blush before it got to his cheeks. Best not to think of dreams right now.

Instead, James focused on the baron. He was wearing a blue prison suit. His skin looked pale, his figure thin. The thick stubble fit him well, but James could tell by the uneven way it had grown that Zemo wasn’t doing too well. It pained him, the fact that Zemo looked so different to the Zemo James remembered. So different from the man he’d been imagining, on those phone calls.

Stop thinking about the stupid phone calls.

“Do you understand these terms and conditions?” one of the officers repeated.

They’d just finished rereading the parole conditions to him, although James was sure Zemo had read through every single letter of the documents on his flight here. The guy was immaculate. He’d probably already found fifty ways to circumvent the parole conditions in his favor.

Zemo wasn’t looking at the officer as he spoke. He looked right past him, directly into Bucky’s eyes. “I do.”

The way those eyes stared into his soul made James want to melt into the floor. He wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad feeling.

Once the shackles were completely off, Zemo rolled his head and shoulders. Another agent came to kneel in front of Zemo to attach his ankle monitor. The baron glanced down at the man with an amused smile.

James could feel Sam frowning next to him. “I’m not sure about this, man. He looks way too happy about this.”

“It’ll be fine.”

Sam glanced his way. “I’ll make damn sure of that. One toe outta line—”

“Back to the Raft, yes yes, you made that clear. All of you did. He’s just here to help, that’s all.”

“What, like a means to an end?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Yeah,” he croaked, trying to sound convincing. Sam’s suspicious silence made James tear his eyes away from the baron. Sam was giving him a weird look. “What?”

“I think you’re well past that.”

James didn’t know what Sam meant by that.

“It doesn’t leave the perimeter,” the agent at Zemo’s feet started as he stood, making Sam and James turn their attention back to them. “It doesn’t go off the ankle, or the alarm is tripped. Do you understand?”

Zemo’s eyes were still on Bucky. Despite the disheveled look, he seemed cheeky, smirking as he was. “I do.”

One of the guards grabbed Zemo by the elbow, yanking him forward, over the grass and towards the porch. James took an instinctual step back. With Zemo coming closer, James could make out more and more details. A small cut on his cheek, the cracks on the skin of his fingers.

Finally, he was pushed up the steps, stopping right in front of James and Sam.

James inhaled sharply, inadvertently breathing him in, the smell pulling him right back to Berlin again. Was is just James or was there less air to breathe?

“James,” Zemo nodded.

The officer nodded at his agent and he left towards the craft. The officer turned back to James and Sam. “We are taking a leap of faith with this. Don’t let us down.”

“We won’t,” Bucky promised. He didn’t know if he could keep that promise, but he was willing to take the risk.

Sam sighed as he turned to him. “Well, this is it. I’ll see you on Sunday, alright?”

James nodded. Just a few days until Sam came back. What could go wrong? Sam wrapped his arms around him into one big hug. It felt surprisingly comforting.

Bucky’s patted his back. “I love you buddy.”

“I love you too.” Sam pulled back with an exhale, eyeing Zemo. “Don’t let the guy mess with your head.”

“What’s more to mess up?” James joked. He inadvertently glanced at Zemo. The baron was giving him a look James couldn’t place.

With one last wave, Sam made to the craft. James moved to the porch railing and kept his eyes trained on the ship as it lifted into the air, knowing that the moment it was gone, he’d be standing here, right next to baron Zemo, of all fucking people on this planet. And he had been the one to bring him here. For some stupid fucking reason.

What the hell had he been thinking?

So James stared at the fields, the tall grass slowly recovering from the whirlwind, the craft soon lost above the clouds, its humming disappearing, birds songs slowly filling the void.

Maybe if he didn’t look next to him, Zemo wouldn’t be —

James glanced over. Zemo was gazing at him in interest with those dark eyes of his.

Fuck.

James took a deep breath, gripping the railing hard. This might have been the worst decision of my life.

Chapter Text

Zemo

James had grown out his hair. It swung ever so slightly as the craft departed. Zemo couldn’t tear his eyes away. Not from that hair, not from that stubble, those eyes, looking out onto the field. James looked well. Maybe not in his best form, but he was faring a lot better than Zemo had in his cell.

James stayed like that, his hands hard on the wood of the railing.

He looked nervous.

Zemo wasn’t quite sure what had brought James to agree to this. If he really meant it, if he wanted his help, or if there was some ulterior motive. Maybe he’d changed his mind and wanted to finish what he had started at the memorial.

Zemo of all people knew what it was like to crave the satisfaction of revenge.

“James…” he found himself saying before he could stop himself.

The man of the hour turned to him and Zemo’s heart started racing. The realization washed over him then: they were alone now. No Sam to break the tension, no Dora Milaje on his tail.

Just James.

Zemo knew he was a dead man walking. With the snarky comments that were bound to leave his mouth, it wouldn’t be long before James would actually kill him, premeditated or not.

Oh well.

“You grew out your hair,” Zemo said to break the silence that probably would have lasted forever - not that he would have minded.

James gave him his usual stare. Zemo didn’t mind that either. He drank in every second of his attention. “I did.”

“It suits you.”

James turned back towards the field, as though he was waiting for the craft to return. Perhaps he was already regretting this. “Can you give me a minute? You can… you can go on in.”

“Of course.” Zemo watched him for a few seconds longer before slowly turning to the door.

He let himself into the country house, wondering whether his time was ticking. And if so, how much time he had left.

The thoughts quickly left his mind, however, as he marveled at the interior.

James’ prison was, to no one’s surprise, miles more beautiful than his own cell. The place was homely and it felt liberating, with the kitchen, dining area, and the living room all one large open space. The big windows made the house feel even less claustrophobic, with views of green fields and further off the forest. The whole ground floor was illuminated by all the daylight outside. If any place was to be therapeutic, this was surely the one.

And the house was decorated too. Not pale and empty, as some tended to be. Zemo was sure the place had been given a glow up before James had been delivered to this cell. It would have surprised Zemo if James had actually decorated it himself.

Though he was always open to surprises.

Zemo started with the kitchen, running his fingers along the dark marble island counters. It was a modern kitchen, clean and minimalist. Quite the beauty.

That being said, Zemo couldn’t help but notice the overflowing bin, filled with fast food wraps. He wrinkled his nose at the smell, even if he was sure he probably smelled just as bad. They hadn’t given him the time to shower, let alone get changed, when they'd ushered him over here.

Still in his prison garments and, though the upgrade was impressive, still in prison.

He moved on to the open living area. There was a large couch facing an unused fireplace, which stood between two tall bookshelves. The wall above the hearth was clearly meant to house a TV, but the wall was empty.

Curious.

Zemo tilted his head at the sliding glass door to his right. It led to an empty backyard terrace. This place truly had potential.

Zemo turned his attention back to the books before scrutinizing a white sculpture of an eagle on one of the shelves. That was when he heard the door close behind him. He spoke without turning to James. “Did you check for wires? Cameras?”

James gave him his signature sigh. “Do you only ask stupid questions?”

That made Zemo smile at the little thing. With an exhale, he straightened his back, clasped his hands together, and allowed himself to once again face the man he would be seeing every single day from now until the foreseeable future, or his death. He might have grabbed the best bargain ever, or he had made the one of the worst mistakes in his recent past. Either way, at least something interesting was happening for a change.

“I see you’ve come quite far since we’ve last seen each other.” He made a point to look around. “Nice place.”

“I bet it’s nicer than the Raft.”

“It’s... quieter.” He turned to the large window. “No waves...” He hesitated before glancing down at his ankle monitor and then back at James. “Forgive me… the back garden. It is still within my limits, correct?”

James frowned at him. “Yeah. Until the red line on the grass. Why?”

“May I?” He nodded towards the sliding door.

James

James gave him a look. “Sure.”

He remembered watching the officers map out the periphery of Zemo’s limits, spraying a little red line between the end of the garden and the beginning of the field, one which Zemo couldn’t step across without alerting the authorities.

James watched him leave out the back door.

He wondered what the baron’s plan was. Was he going to make a run for it anyway? Had he figured out a workaround to the his actual house arrest?

James slowly followed him as the baron stepped over the terrace and down to the garden.

Zemo slowed on the lawn instead of hurrying to run. Ever so slowly, he let himself sit down on the grass, fingers running over the blades, face up towards the sun.

Right.

He hadn’t seen the sun in months.

James stepped up to him, to really look at him. His skin did look paler than usual. And he could make out the bags under his eyes like this. He looked tired.

Well, maybe him being tired was partially James’ fault, with all his calls. Inadvertently, he thought of the dream. He pushed the thought away but still managed to blush.

“You hungry?” James didn’t know when had been the last time the baron had had anything to eat. Come to think of it, he had no idea how he’d been treated at the Raft. All hew knew was that the food was awful, according to Zemo anyway.

At least he was alive.

James felt queasy at that thought. It was good that he was alive and yet… alive was not always a good thing.

“I can make you something, if you want.”

Zemo opened his eyes and met his gaze. “Thank you, James.”

James crossed his arms to push away the odd sensation bubbling up in his stomach. “If you want to shower as well, you know…”

Zemo smiled, turning back to the sun as he closed his eyes once more. “Is it really that bad?”

“No,” James blurted out, mouth faster than his brain could compute that Zemo was just being sarcastic. For fuck’s sake. “I mean, whenever, I’m just saying if you wanted to —

“I do. Just a few more minutes?”

“Yeah… don’t worry about it.” James inhaled deeply, biting the inside of his lip. He quickly ran a hand through his hair. He’d imagined Zemo so differently on the phone. The baron from Madripoor, the same one who had moved so fast and shot with such precision. He looked frailer than he remembered.

“I’ve asked Oeznik to send some of my effects, but I’m afraid it may take a while. The suitcase will probably be checked through for… well probably everything.”

“I can lend you my stuff in the meantime. So you don’t have to walk around in…” James looked him up and down, “that.”

“Thank you.”

In all fairness, even the prison garment suited him. Zemo seemed to look frustratingly good no matter what he had on.

James snapped out of it.

What the hell was he thinking?

James pushed any and all thoughts away as he just stood there, watching Zemo sit, chin lifted to the sun, hair swaying in the soft breeze. The man looked so at peace, it was uncanny.

Even if James knew that Zemo knew that he was staring at him. But the baron didn’t seem to mind.

When a thicker cloud meandered across the sky, Zemo sighed. “Alright. Enough.” He stood and brushed off the grass. “I need to wash this Raft stench away.”

“I’ll get you something.” James hurried inside and up the stairs, not caring if Zemo had followed him or if he had made a run for it after all. He grabbed the first clothes he could find in the closet and returned to the living room. For a moment, he thought Zemo might have actually left. But then he turned to his right and found him. The baron was standing by the bathroom door, staring at a painting on the wall.

Zemo glanced over when he noticed his presence. He motioned at the picture. “Nice touch.”

James eyed the stupid painting that he hadn’t chosen. “Thanks. Came with the house.” He gave him the heap of clothes.

“Thank you, James.”

James gulped. He was just thanking him for the clothes. Or was he? “It’s nothing.”

As soon as Zemo was in the bathroom, James dashed to the kitchen like his life depended on it, sweat forming on his forehead as he raced to gather something, anything, to cook. He hadn’t thought as far as Zemo actually being here. Any time he’d tried, his mind had blanked out, too in shock that the parole had been agreed to. Or maybe rather thinking that it had all just been one big joke.

But now here he was, with nothing prepared.

He opened the fridge. A half-full milk carton, some eggs, butter, a couple of slices of ham.

Shit.

He pulled open one of the cabinet doors, pushing a gun out of the way, searching for an unopened package of anything.

He rummaged past the cereal boxes until he noticed the packet in the back.

“Yes,” he mumbled under his breath.

He quickly started boiling water in a pot, impatiently tapping his metal finger on the counter. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He could only hope that Zemo was taking his time in there.

He knew the baron was going to judge him for the selection of food, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting some food in him at all.

By the time Zemo emerged from the bathroom, it was almost ready.

James looked up at Zemo, wearing his own bathrobe, brushing a towel through his hair. The image transported him right back to Latvia. All of a sudden, James realized he’d missed this. The baron, in his life. They’d only been together for what, a couple of weeks during that mission with Sam? Or days? But it had felt like ages.

“James?”

James blinked, back in the present. “What?”

“I asked you a question.”

“What?”

“You don't mind me wearing this bathrobe, do you? It was a bit cool with just the tee-shirt.”

“I- Yeah.” James should have picked better clothes than that light shirt and sweatpants. Fuck. “That’s- it’s fine.”

Zemo came closer slowly. James wanted to step away but he forced himself to stay at the stove. He tried to breathe normally, even when the baron was right next to him, smelling like James’ citrus washing lotion. A part of him wanted to lean closer.

What the hell was I thinking with this?

Zemo glanced into the pot. “Are those instant noodles?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t find anything else. I’ll order some actual food. I should. Actually, I should have ordered something in advance, seeing as you were… on your way...”

“It’s just what I need, James,” Zemo told him, sitting down across from him at the kitchen island. “I am famished. Anything is better than the food at the Raft.”

James nodded. Right.

James poured the baron some water, then put half of the serving on one plate, half on the other. He passed Zemo his plate, Zemo mumbling a ‘thanks.’

He hadn’t even sat down opposite him before Zemo suddenly started shoving the noodles into his mouth. James glared at the sight. So much for being a baron.

Zemo was moaning lewdly at every swallow, and between every mouthful, he gulped down water like this was his last meal. He groaned again as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “This is the best meal I have had in a while. Thank you, James.”

James bit the inside of his lip again when the instinct rose up his throat. The instinct to apologize for letting him be taken to the Raft in the first place. It felt inhumane now that he thought about it. No sunlight, no real food, no company. He’d practically sentenced the guy to torture.

And he knew what that was like.

James pushed his own plate over to Zemo when the baron had licked his own clean.

Zemo gave him a look. “You haven’t even touched yours.”

“Already ate,” James lied.

Zemo

Zemo scrutinized him. He knew James was lying, but he accepted the offer nonetheless. He couldn’t help himself. He was starving. It might have been embarrassing, downing food like he had, but his time at the Raft had made him care less about such things. And it was only James sitting across from him. Zemo knew he didn’t have to put on a mask.

For the second serving, however, he pulled his act together and went at a slower pace, actually savoring every morsel of fake flavor that dissolved on his tongue. Instant noodles had never tasted this fucking good.

He still couldn’t believe James’ therapist or the committee had signed off on this. In the shower, it had been the only thing he could think about. It was a true mystery, why they had actually agreed to this. There had to be something else, another reason, some kind of plot.

It was something Zemo was going to have to uncover sooner rather than later. He wondered whether James was in on some ulterior plan too.

It looked like Zemo was going to need to play along and find out. For now, he was just grateful. For the company, for the food, for the fresh air, for the sunlight, for the warm shower water, and for the set of clothes that smelled like James. The scent had taken Zemo right back to Berlin. Nothing bad, but olfactory memory was potent, sending Zemo back in time. All the more when he’d found himself pulling on that bathrobe, praying James would let him wear it.

“Zemo.”

“Hmm?” Zemo looked up, pulled back to the present, still eating.

That was when James asked him something that made Zemo stop dead in his tracks.

James

He tapped his vibranium finger on the table as he watched the baron eat, the gears in his head turning as he ate away. James hated how hungry and tired he looked. Hated himself for causing this.

“Zemo,” he suddenly found himself starting.

“Hmm?”

“They hurt you in there?”

Zemo froze.

Bucky’s chest felt like it plunged in icy waters as he waited for an answer.

Zemo gulped before giving him an interested look. Then his eyes darted away. “No,” he croaked.

Didn’t sound fucking convincing.

“You sure?”

“I was property of the state,” he said quietly, the words clearly struggling to come out. “I was not... to be damaged.”

James could hardly believe his ears. “Property?”

Zemo gave him a half smile as he shrugged. “What can I say? On the bright side, that is the reason I was assured of my welfare.”

“Yeah,” James chortled in disbelief, eyes running over his face and body. “A fine job they did with your welfare.”

James thought he saw a slight pink hue appear on the baron’s cheeks. But maybe it was just the warmth of the kitchen.

“I have endured far worse,” Zemo said quietly, eyes darting away again, hand squeezing his napkin. “Thank you, James, for all of this.”

Whatever this is, James pondered.

He didn’t have the time to intervene before Zemo cleared the table and started washing up. James watched him for a moment before slowly strolling to the couch and letting himself fall down on top of it. He had no idea what he was doing. Maybe this was a mistake. Another goddamn mistake.

For months he’d been secluded in this house, Sam visiting every now and then. But now, all of a sudden, a second person was here, in his space. He didn’t know if he was supposed to feel worried that the intrusion didn’t feel unwelcome. It felt unusual, to be sure, but not bad. The void of loneliness was far worse. But James guessed anyone would have filled that void. It wasn’t Zemo in particular that had this effect. Right?

And yet James found all his attention bent on that baron, now in the kitchen, drying up the rest of the plates, putting them back in the cabinets like he fucking lived here. James gulped down the weird vulnerable feeling. And he hoped Zemo hadn’t found any of his hidden guns yet.

Zemo moved out of the kitchen and towards the living room. James watched with his usual stare as Zemo stepped past the couch towards the bookshelf. He had his hands clasped together behind his back as he tilted his head to read the book spines. He looked over his shoulder back at James and motioned. “May I?”

James almost wanted to laugh. Zemo was so… chill about all of this. “Knock yourself out.”

The baron perused the books before choosing one and sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. It was a big, comfortable piece of furniture, but James still felt oddly close to Zemo. No less because he felt every minute movement of his.

Thankfully, the baron only lasted five minutes before he was out of it.

James watched his chest rise and fall, head back against the sofa’s armrest. He looked fucking exhausted.

Careful not to rouse him, James got up and grabbed a quilt from the armchair. He gently tugged the splayed open book from Zemo’s light grasp and instead covered the baron with the blanket.

Regardless of whether this was a good idea for him or not, James owed Zemo at least a little respite from the Raft. It was the least he could do.

***

James tossed and turned that night, mind too focused on the fact that someone else was in his house. Zemo, of all people, sleeping downstairs on the couch.

James opened his eyes and stared at his white ceiling. What in the worlds had he been thinking, inviting this man into his own prison cell? No way was Zemo actually here to help him. James understood the guy. He too would have jumped on the occasion to escape the Raft and upgrade to this prison instead. And James owed him that too. Why then did his chest feel so cold at the idea of Zemo using this as an excuse, as a means to an end for his own comfort? But it made sense. What incentive did he have to help James? No incentive at all.

Quietly, James sat up before making his way down the creaking stairs. The living room was dark with only the moonlight soft in the windows. As James walked around the sofa, he made out the soft snoring figure sprawled out on it. Zemo still looked completely gone. He was so vulnerable it made James shiver. If someone came in to kill him now, Zemo would be a dead man.

So much for all the military alertness.

James stared at him for a while, wondering whether this was all just a dream.

Then he made his way up the stairs again, throwing himself on his own bed, waiting until rest eventually overcame him.

***

When James strolled down the next morning, the sun slowly lifting behind the forest, Zemo was still sleeping. James quietly moved to the kitchen, wincing as the coffee machine whirled to life.

He glanced over, noticing him shift on the couch. Looked like the baron was still alive.

James forced himself to stare intently at his mug filling with coffee, even as he saw movement in the corner of his eyes. The way Zemo slowly stood, slowly pulled on his damned bathrobe again.

James could hear the patter of his feet as he stepped towards the kitchen, leaning against the wall some feet away.

His head moved of its own accord. James found himself staring into those dark eyes, Zemo staring right back at him.

His mouth refused to open. What the fuck was he supposed to say – Good morning? Guess all of that wasn’t a dream then, huh?

“Coffee?” James finally managed, his voice raspy.

Zemo meandered closer hesitantly. “Thank you.”

Just like the day before, James tried to ignore his nearing presence as he poured a second mug.

God this was so awkward. Or was it exhilarating? Daunting? What the fuck was this emotion?

James quickly sat down at the counter, sipping the steaming drink, diverting his eyes as Zemo slowly lowered himself across from him.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“How did you sleep?” Zemo asked then, not dissimilar to the way he used to speak on the phone. Though now he was right here, right across from James, warming his hands on a mug of coffee James had made for him.

James blinked at the baron. “Me?”

Zemo’s eyes darted between his, lips curling ever so slightly. “Well, I don’t see anyone else here.”

James closed his eyes, trying to hold himself together. Fuck. What had he been thinking? Calling Zemo at night had always felt so easy. Like second nature. But now, speaking to him face to face, it made things… it made them real.

“Fine,” he lied as he turned away. “I slept fine.”

Chapter Text

James

“Fine,” he lied as he turned away. “I slept fine.” When James was met with silence, he dared a glance back at the baron. Zemo was giving him one of those looks again, so he quickly tried to get the attention away from himself. “You seemed to have slept great. You were completely out of it.”

Zemo glanced at the couch, contemplating. “I haven’t slept so well in… actually, I don’t even remember the last time I slept like this.”

“Kinda dangerous, don’t you think? Letting yourself go like that? Being so off-guard?”

Zemo gave him a half smile, accompanied by his usual shrug. “I knew you were here. I didn’t have anything to worry about.”

James looked away with a quick inhale. What was Zemo implying? That James was going to protect him if something happened?

Bunch of bullshit.

He was supposed to be scared of James, if anything.

“I had a hard time sleeping in that cell,” Zemo continued, which prompted James to look back at him. The baron was tapping his fingers on his mug. “The artificial lighting, the inability to go out for a run, the constant noise of waves.” He sighed before smirking. “Not to mention, someone kept calling me in the middle of the night.”

James couldn’t have fought the blush if he had wanted to. But the Raft did really sound like hell on earth. James wondered whether the baron would be sent back if he succeeded in his mission of helping him. Or how much time would pass before they sent him back anyway, once they all came to their senses and realized that he couldn’t help at all. James wasn’t even sure what counted as him being healed from the PTSD. How could people define or measure psychological progress?

The thought pushed him to speak.

“So,” he dared to begin, eyes fleeting his way as he tapped his finger on the table nervously. “What’s the plan?”

Zemo looked him with that curious expression of his, those narrowing eyes. Like he was analyzing him, trying to figure out what had prompted him to ask the question.

James decided to met his gaze, lifting his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

A hint of a smile appeared on Zemo’s lips.

James wasn’t fucking having it. “Please tell me you have a plan.”

“A plan to…?”

James stared at him in disbelief. “To help me? Hello?” Fuck. Zemo really had just come here to get some free time from the Raft hadn’t he? Not like James could fault him but fuck. Zemo wasn’t here for him. No one ever was —

“Some things are better left unplanned, James.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That means that there are too many variables at play here,” he downed the last of his coffee, “you and plans do not typically go hand in hand.”

“So your plan with your very strict parole is... to improvise.”

He smiled again. “My plan is to let things play out naturally. Like they did, during our calls.” James averted his eyes at that, suddenly submerged by memories he wished he wasn’t having right now. “I am no therapist, James. You can’t expect me to ask you to sit down and tell me of your woes at three pm sharp. Nor do I wager is that something you enjoy.”

James glared at him. “Don’t you worry about what I enjoy. I enjoy none of this.”

Zemo gave him that weird look again. James hated it. “You chose this.”

James’ nose flared with anger. “Chose this?”

“Chose for me to come,” Zemo clarified quickly, as if it had been obvious that he had just meant that.

“You weren’t exactly my first choice, baron.” Zemo gave him an unimpressed look. “More like a last resort,” James muttered, more to himself.

“James,” Zemo started in a low voice. “Why am I here?”

James’ breathing stuttered. “To help,” he replied, almost too quickly for his own liking. “Right?”

“Right.” Zemo hesitated a moment before continuing. “You said you do not enjoy any of this. What exactly is it that you do not enjoy?”

James groaned. “What do you think, Sherlock?”

Zemo shrugged. “It is a genuine question.”

He clenched his jaw. “The waiting. The doing nothing. The monotony of every day, the boredom…” As he spoke, he realized Zemo was gazing at him with those fucking puppy eyes. “Should I keep going or do you want me to stop?”

He spoke softly then. “The waiting… What are you waiting for, James?”

“For this to end.”

“And then?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He looked away. Fuck that thought was terrifying. The next step was re-integration, he guessed? But he didn’t know what that entailed. What was he supposed to do? He sighed, hesitating. “After all the fighting, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Fuck, he hated this. Hated that he was admitting it. To Zemo of all people. He’d never told Raynor about it but he wagered she had figured it out. That he was a soldier and nothing more.

And he hated not doing what he was good at, being left with nothing but this emptiness.

“It is only natural, of course,” Zemo started slowly. “It is hard to let go of the adrenaline. It becomes something of an addiction.” Zemo paused, scrutinizing him with that little head tilt of his. “I did notice it, James. How you reacted when you played the role of the Winter Soldier for me in Madripoor. I saw the look in your eyes. The way your hands flexed. The Winter Soldier was completely gone, and yet, you were still enjoying yourself.”

James was up in a flash. “Say that one more time.”

Zemo slowly rose up to meet him. “You were enjoying yourself.”

“Oh the mouth on you...” James stepped around the table. A warning. Zemo took half a step back. “You’re not here to fucking help me, are you?”

Zemo hummed, tilting his head. “James, I am only telling you something you already know.”

Before Zemo could react, his metal hand grabbed the front of his bathrobe and pushed him up against the wall.

Zemo grabbed the arm pressing down on his chest, huffing. “You don’t have to... lie to me.”

“I don’t enjoy—” He inhaled sharply as soon as the words were out, eyes widening as the realization kicked in.

A small smirk formed on Zemo’s lips. “You feel it right now, don’t you? That high? I know what it’s like, James. I understand. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I feel it too. We all do.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not. I’m telling you the truth you don’t want to hear.”

James abandoned Zemo’s chest to press his vibranium hand around Zemo’s throat. “Careful now.”

Zemo tilted his chin up to give him more room. The movement stirred something in the depths of Bucky’s stomach. His eyes flicked to those lips.

A hand wrapped around the metal wrist. “I’m not… afraid of you.” Zemo kept James’ gaze, lips open ever so slightly.

“Maybe you should be.”

Before he could react, Zemo kicked up into his abdomen. James doubled over in surprise, giving him enough lee-way to rush away. He barely made it a single step when James tripped his ankle and he crashed down onto the floor.

Zemo attempted to crawl away, but a hand wrapped around said ankle and pulled, hard.

He crashed onto the ground again, rolling onto his back to kick him away, but James was on top of him in a heartbeat.

Zemo

Zemo gasped in surprise as James straddled him, feet holding down his legs, hands grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the floor next to his head, immobilizing him. Zemo tried with all his might to push all the indecent thoughts from his mind. He was so fucking turned on right now it was embarrassing.

He had to look away. Or close his eyes. Anything other than gazing up at James like this.

But it seemed no matter what he did, he would still be unable to hold his body’s reaction back.

“This is unfair,” he huffed, mostly to himself.

“You started it.”

Zemo’s eyes dashed to those lips despite his every effort not to steal a glance. And then at that hair, swaying down as he hovered just a few inches over his face… Zemo could only fantasize about being pressed to the ground like this in another context. What he’d fucking give…

Fuck, all this solitary prison was biting him in the ass right now. He’d never felt more touch-starved and now here he was, pinned down and manhandled by a fucking super soldier. And not just any super soldier. James.

“I see through your bullshit, Zemo,” James snarled. “You can claim all you want that you’re just telling me hard truths. I know you’re just trying to get a rise out of me. Stop antagonizing me.”

“And what are you going to do if I keep going, hmm?” Zemo’s eyes darted between his. “Are you finally going to finish the job?”

James frowned. “Finish what job?”

“Don’t deny you regret the memorial, James. That you can’t scratch that itch. You’re frustrated you passed by the opportunity, the satisfaction, of putting a bullet through my head.”

“You think killing you would be enough to satisfy me? I told you. I don’t kill anymore.”

“Yes, but you still want to. I see the fire in your eyes, even now.”

James gulped. Had Zemo hallucinated it, or had those eyes darted down to his lips as well? “I don’t want to kill you.”

Zemo squirmed underneath him. “Cut the pretenses, James. I know a part of you craves it.”

“Stop psychoanalyzing me.”

“It’s not psychoanalyzing if it’s as clear as day. You know I’m right.”

“Okay, fine.” James grunted, sarcasm dripping from his voice, leaning even closer. His breath fanned over Zemo’s lips. “Now that you mention it, maybe I do want to kill you.”

Zemo smirked, his heart racing in his chest, breaths shallow. “I know. I can see the longing in your eyes. I know you want to do it.” He only barely held himself back from bulking his hips to him. Instead, his tilted his chin up again, nearing their lips just the tiniest bit more. “Why am I here, James?”

James

James felt that weird swirling sensation in his stomach again. He lifted himself away from Zemo, just enough to break the spell. He shook his head with a frown. “You know why. I already told you why.”

“You really want me to believe that your therapist and all those other bureaucrats signed off on this, because they thought I could help you?”

“You’re the one who fucking proposed it!” James spat down at him, biting away a sudden awful feeling, like tears welling up. If Zemo himself didn’t believe he could help, then what the fuck was he doing here? If Zemo of all people thought him a lost cause, he might as well just -

“I was delusional, out of my mind,” the baron told him.

James’ breath shuttered, his resolve of keeping the tears back slowly shattering. “So... you’re admitting you can’t help me?”

“What?”

“Just say it. Say it. Tell me I'm a lost cause. Tell me I’m broken and nothing in the whole wide world can fix it. I need to hear you say it.”

“James… I…” Zemo frowned up at him, shifting underneath him. “You’re not broken, James.”

“Cut the crap, Zemo.”

“I mean it.”

“But you can’t help me, right? You just said so. You said the idea was delusional.”

Zemo’s eyes raced between his as his frown deepened. “No, I want to help you. I want to try, if I can, but...”

“But what?”

“Believing I could help you, wanting to help you, that was not what made this delusional. It was proposing it to the committee. Because there was no way they were going to say yes. But they did. Why? What’s the ulterior plan?”

James stared down at him. “I – What? There – There is no ulterior plan.”

“You really want me to believe that?”

“What did you think this was?” James frowned down at him, another uneasy feeling rushing through him. “You thought I agreed to do this just to kill you?”

Zemo shrugged - as much as he could anyway, being restrained by James.

Bucky blinked down at him. Fuck. So Zemo hadn’t come here for some respite from the Raft, but...

“You fucking came here to die?”

“No,” Zemo said quickly, eyes dashing down again. “If I wanted to die I could have dealt with that myself. Despite the fact that having you kill me would be... well...”

James let one of Zemo’s wrists go to press the hand to his throat. “Zemo.”

“Yeah,” he croaked with a half smile, tilting his head up again, eyes fluttering. “Just like that.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “James, I was unsure if you wanted to kill me after all. I would have let you. I was prepared for the possibility, even if I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

James groaned as he yanked his hand away. “So why did you come?”

“I thought… I wasn’t sure…” His eyes met Bucky’s again. “I want to try and help you with the nightmares, if I can. I do.” He shakily inhaled. “I just wasn’t sure if you really meant it.”

“Meant it?”

“That my help is something you actually wanted.”

James let up. “I did. I still do. I just don’t… I don’t understand why you would... why help me? You crossed out your name in the notebook. You don’t owe me anymore.”

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

“Is it too much to say that I simply want to help?”

James felt something inside of his chest tighten. There was something dangerous in Zemo’s eyes. He could feel it as he gazed up at him. “To want to help a super soldier, yeah.”

“To help you, James.”

“You really mean it?”

“I do.”

They stared at each other for a few moments. What a bunch of fucking misunderstandings.

But who could blame either of them? Zemo was right, after all. It was fucking weird that this parole had been agreed to.

James took in a stuttering breath. Fuck. If Zemo really meant it… if he really did want to help…

“Okay?” Zemo asked quietly.

“Okay,” James mumbled.

“James…”

James held his breath, looking down at the baron, completely immobilized underneath him. It sent heat inside of James that he knew he shouldn’t be feeling. And the way Zemo said his name…

“Hmm?” James managed, eyes lost wandering over his face, observing all those small details, from his stubble to his freckles.

“We need to be honest with each other, if this is going to work.”

Honest? That was going to be hard. James didn’t even know if he completely believed Zemo. The bastard was always up to no good. But James also knew there was a part of him that trusted the baron fully. And frankly, that scared the shit out of him. That same part of him had trusted Zemo when he’d broken him out of that Berlin prison, had known the baron would be waiting at the memorial.

That same instinctive trust had been enough to push him to call, to bring him here.

“Honesty, James,” Zemo repeated. “Could you do that?”

Why did it sound like the baron was lecturing him? “I never fucking lied to you.”

“So you slept well, last night?”

James did a double take. Then he narrowed his eyes. “And you weren’t hurt, at the Raft?”

Zemo had the gall to smile. “I told you the truth, James. The guards didn’t hurt me. Nor did any of the other inmates.”

Well, that still left one option open: that Zemo had hurt himself. “You’re lying by omission, Zemo.”

“Touché.” But he was still smirking. “Why am I here, James?”

“To help me.”

His eyes glistened as he tutted. “Still lying.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“What do you want, Zemo?”

Zemo huffed. “Honesty. And I will get it, in the end. I’m not afraid of you. You can try to stop me, but I never will.”

The metal arm smacked into the floor right next to Zemo’s head so hard he flinched.

Zemo

Fucking hell.

“Well look at that,” James smiled. “It seems you are afraid of me after all. So much for honesty, hmm?”

Zemo let out an exhale through his mouth, stealing another glance at those lips.

“What’s that,” James smirked, “cat’s got your tongue?”

James lowered his head until Zemo could feel his breath on his face. Something told him, regrettably, that he wasn’t going in for a kiss.

“If you really don’t want to die, stop trying to get under my skin.”

Well first he had to get under his clothes— Zemo forced himself not to lose himself to his devilish thoughts no matter how sweet they were. He tilted his head. “Is that a threat?”

“Maybe.”

“Understood.” Zemo cleared his throat, licking his lips as his eyes darted to that mouth again. He wondered how they tasted. “Apologies.”

“And I can tell when you’re lying too, you know,” James told him, but there was no bite in the words. As if suddenly realizing how close they were, he swiftly stood.

Zemo swore Bucky’s had momentarily glanced at his lips just before.

“I need some air.”

With heavy steps, James made across the living room and out of the sliding doors to the back porch.

Zemo stayed right there, arms still next to his head in surrender, trying to get his breathing under control. Memories washed through him like the waves outside the Raft: of Bucky’s weight, his breath on his face, that smirk, those lips…

Zemo was a lost cause.

He had such a fucking problem.

***

Zemo didn’t know when the crush had started. It all blurred together with no beginning and no end. The moment he had activated the Winter Soldier in Berlin everything had changed. The man in that glass cage should have been nothing but a tool, a means to his ends. Zemo should have felt impartial using him.

And yet…

And yet when he’d stood in front of him – his soldier – Zemo had felt such a rush of power. Suddenly they were connected, not just through the words, but through a deeper bond, all of the Soldier’s history tied to it. Zemo would never be able to put to words what that felt like. But what was clear was that it was real, almost palpable in the air. None of the reports he’d read could have ever prepared him for the feeling standing in front of him.

James was a super soldier and Zemo had wanted them all dead. He’d planned to order the Winter Soldier to kill himself after using him, even if he knew the man behind it all had never had a choice. But the plan completely burst into flames when he’d seen James in the flesh. He couldn’t do it.

The fact that he was a super soldier no longer held any weight.

All Zemo had seen was a man, fighting with all his might to stop himself from turning into that emotionless weapon. Zemo had ripped away his autonomy, his control.

The same way Zemo’s control had been ripped from him, when he’d been unable to save his family.

On paper, all that conditioning and torture had felt so impersonal, but in person, it had become real. The history in those eyes, the suffering, the pain. James had been an unwilling victim and Zemo had only really realized it that day. Suddenly the man was not just a name, but James. And yet he’d still used him as an end to his means. He couldn’t dare to let those thoughts lead him astray that day. He had to concentrate, see the mission through. But the uneasy knowledge that he had used a person who had suffered so much had not left him since. Maybe because of that connection they had made, after Zemo had finished saying the words. He thought of it often, the way it had felt saying them, the way it had felt, controlling the Soldier. He knew it was wrong and immoral but he couldn’t deny the adrenaline that had rushed through him all the same. It was addicting.

Zemo couldn’t say he regretted it entirely either. During his imprisonment, he’d heard about James being deprogrammed. And he knew that the only reason that had happened was because, inadvertently, Zemo had used him. And Zemo had felt relieved hearing the news. He empathized with him, glad that James had regained that autonomy. That at least one of them had been able to free themselves from the pain of the past.

But Zemo’s own hypocrisy was not lost on him. He knew he was supposed to want all super soldiers dead. But James... The man had never had a choice. And he wasn’t using his strength to seek more power. That was what helped Zemo sleep at night, fighting to justify this one exception to his exception-less rule. An error in his own anti-superhero ideology. A fallacy in his logic.

He had tried not to think too much about those principles or conflicting feelings when James had entered his cell that day. Bucky had helped him break free, and had trusted him enough to meet with him at the garage. Out of all the people in the world, James had come to him for help. Yes, perhaps James had used him as a means to an end as well, but it didn’t matter. Zemo had relished every second of it, finding himself getting more enraptured by James as time went by. That connection that had sparked in Berlin all those years ago was back a thousand fold, bonding them together in a way he couldn’t explain. Zemo could see something in Bucky’s eyes that no one else could. Or perhaps understood him on a deeper level. He had so much knowledge stored away, about his time with Hydra. He was unsure whether anyone else knew what James had gone through as much as he did.

And then, when James had choked him on the plane to Madripoor, something new sparked inside of him, something he hadn’t felt in years. He could only do his best to push the feelings away. James would never return them, he had been certain of it. And yet, the illusion of that certainty cracked away every now and then.

It finally shattered when James had pulled the trigger of that empty gun.

It was all the confirmation Zemo needed. James liked him too.

The Raft wasn’t that bad then, knowing that at least one person respected him despite all he’d done.

He never expected to hear from him again.

Everything changed that fateful night, when James had decided to call him. James didn’t just respect him. James trusted him, enough to confide in him his emotions, his fears, his nightmares. And Zemo listened, trying to become worthy of that trust.

All the same, Zemo had not expected James to really go through with getting him out of the Raft. Zemo was still sure there was something else going on, but for now, he was pretty sure James had really meant it. James didn’t want him dead. James wanted him alive. James wanted his help.

James wanted him.

And the world be damned, Zemo wanted him too.

Chapter Text

James

The morning walk was refreshing. It helped get his mind off things. And that was what James needed right now. To get his mind off how it had felt, straddling Zemo like that. James knew he’d just done it as an excuse to feel more of the baron. But he’d be damned if he’d ever admit it to Zemo. He wasn’t good with that shit, talking about feelings. Which was probably the reason therapy sucked so much.

He didn’t know why him, Zemo, of all people.

James had only felt hate for the man at first. Hydra, he had assumed, in the few seconds of consciousness he had had before Zemo had activated the Winter Soldier. It was a blessing to have been unconscious for his time as the soldier. But that didn’t make the aftermath any easier.

And yet, when he learned of Zemo’s true intentions, that initial hate had faded away.

Yes, he had used the Winter Soldier as a means to an end, but James understood why he had done so. If their places had been reversed, James wouldn't have hesitated a second before doing the exact same thing.

At the end of the day, James was lucky that it was Zemo who had found and used him, rather than Hydra, or anyone else with actual nefarious intentions. Not to mention that it was because of Zemo that James had ended up in Wakanda to be deprogrammed.

He arrived at the edge of the field and entered the forest. The birds chirped away as his feet crunched over the forest path. The air smelled of pine trees. He liked this place.

It reminded him of the nature in Wakanda, even if it was much colder here.

James sat down, his back against a tree.

He knew wasn’t supposed to feel this way about the baron, but there was a connection between them that ran deep. Deeper than he'd ever admit to anyone.

Zemo had used him and had become the Winter Soldier's handler, even if it had only been for a short time. The soldier that he had turned into would have done anything for him. That’s how deep that connection was at the time. And that bond wasn’t something that could easily be shaken off. He was still tied to the baron in a way.

Funnily enough, that thought didn’t really scare him. Because he knew he couldn't be used anymore. He wasn’t the winter soldier anymore, and he knew Zemo didn't have any ill intent towards him. Yes, he was frustrating as hell and kept pushing all his buttons, but he never crossed any definitive lines. Never aimed or pulled the trigger. Not like James.

He smiled at himself at the thought of the memorial.

The way Zemo had looked at him when he had teased him right back.

Zemo had wanted to die that day, though. James remembered seeing it in his eyes.

James wasn't sure if he would ever understand the baron. Zemo had made killing super soldiers his whole personality. And yet here he was, sitting in this beautiful endless forest. And Zemo was in his house, willing to help him, just as he’d helped with the flag smashers. It was funny how easily Zemo had been willing to comply. They had the same goals, but still, he could have run off to do the job on his own.

He didn’t.

It had even felt at times like Zemo was trying his hardest to stay with them, what with his whole leverage speech.

And James found that he had wanted for Zemo to stay too. Sam maybe didn’t understand, but it was fun, being angry at someone. Having someone get under his skin. Sam was genuinely annoyed with James sometimes, but Zemo never was. Zemo just riled him up for the fun of it, even if he knew James could kill him without even breaking a sweat. Nothing ever stopped him from saying or doing the insanely stupid things he wanted to do or say. And James had fucking relished in it.

He enjoyed wondering what would happen whenever Sam left the room, even for a few moments. He wanted to see what strings Zemo would pull next, how he’d sweet talk himself out of the next sink hole. He lived for his little head tilt. He’d enjoyed putting his hand on that throat, watching those eyes dart to his lips like some desperate teenager. He’d enjoyed pretending that he didn’t notice the way Zemo looked at him sometimes, even if he never figured out what the looks meant. Was Zemo curious? Did he admire him? Was he jealous?

In the end, James found it didn't really matter, because he enjoyed it either way. He needed to have Zemo’s eyes on him. To have his attention. James thrived on it. Zemo saw him, actually saw him, more than anyone else did.

When James been staring down the bottom of the bottle on those long lonely nights, he had only been thinking of him. He had known from the moment the nightmares had worsened that Zemo would be able to help him. Not just because of his knowledge. But because of their connection.

Therapists would do him no good. They didn’t understand.

But Zemo did.

He had not expected for Zemo to be so fast to call, for him to care so much. He had not expected his own feelings to flood him the way that they did. Feelings that had only increased in such a terrifying way from the moment Zemo had stepped off that craft.

James sighed into the cool air, losing himself in memories of Zemo’s arrivall before he forced himself to focus and come back to the present.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. They still had a couple more days until Sunday, but Sam had already sent him multiple messages.

Wed, 3:05 pm

Sam: You still alive?

Wed, 3:06 pm

Sam: Or maybe the better question is if Zemo is still alive.

Wed, 3:09 pm

Sam: Oh wait! I forgot. I don’t actually care if he is.

Wed, 3:10 pm

Sam: In all honesty, you good?

Wed, 3:21 pm

Sam: Sry, forgot you’re SHIT AT TEXTING ME BACK.

James couldn’t help but smile down at his phone.

James: We’re fine.

James: Sorted some stuff out.

Sam is typing…

James wondered where Sam was now. What he was doing. Maybe he was at a mission debrief. Or at home. Or back in Louisiana visiting his sister. James wanted to know. But he also didn’t want to know.

Because he knew that as soon as Sam gave him any kind of information, James was going to break the therapy rules and leave.

Not on his watch.

He was going to see this through to the end, no matter what.

Sam: Sounds promising.

James: I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.

Sam: I’ll leave that up to your interpretation. Gtg, see you on Sunday, yeah?

James: Yeah.

---

When James made up the front door porch, he noticed the luggage next to the food delivery crate. Thank god. Finally Zemo could put on his own clothes instead of wearing the oversized stuff James had let him burrow.

Well, that was if he was still here.

James picked up the food box, then hesitated at the front door, leaning on it, waiting. If he was lucky, Zemo had escaped, had run away, which meant he didn’t have to deal with the baron anymore. But if he was unlucky…

He took a deep breath and entered the house.

“Your stuff is here,” he said as he dumped the box on the kitchen counter.

He looked around the silent house. Just as his heart was about to skip a beat, he found him lying on the living room floor, right where he had fucking left him.

James stepped up to him until he was looking right down at his face, those dark eyes meeting his.

Now his heart actually skipped a beat. “What are you still doing there?”

Zemo blinked up at him. “Thinking.”

“Well when you’re done with that, if ever,” James said as he started heading back to the kitchen, “You can get your stuff.”

Zemo rolled off his back and was up in a dash. “What’s that?” he asked as he stepped closer.

“Food delivery. I order shit online and then it appears on my front porch. Crazy times, huh.” He flipped a packet of pasta. “Got some real food.” He pointed at the door. “You stuff’s outside.”

“Thank you.”

James cleared his throat to cover up the way his face heated up. Why did the baron thanking him make him feel so hot every goddamn time?

As James sorted everything out in the fridge, he watched Zemo from the corner of his eye. The baron knelt on the floor and unzipped the suitcase, having a look at what he had been sent.

“Everything good?”

Zemo glanced up at him. “Yes. Unfortunately, my weapons were confiscated.”

“Very funny, Zemo,” James said, gulping as he suddenly remembered all the guns he’d stashed away everywhere.

He had to find a moment to actually dispose of them, or at least hide them properly. If the baron decided to snoop around…

James opened a cabinet and made sure the empty cereal box hid the pistol, pushing it back before placing rice bags in front of the box.

When he turned back to Zemo, the man had heaved up a heavy fabric and was smiling at it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” James couldn’t help but mutter when he recognized the fur coat. “We’re in the middle of summer for goodness sake.”

“You can never be too cautious,” Zemo said as he folded it up neatly. James wondered if it had sentimental value. “I’ll go get changed.”

When Zemo was back, he was wearing a simple dark shirt and black pants. Not something James had expected from a baron, but maybe he was going for casual.

Maybe it was so he wouldn’t scare James away with his fancy fashion.

James almost wanted to laugh at the thought.

Zemo

It felt nice to be in his own clothes again, even if he couldn’t get enough of James’ smell on him. He wagered the only reason he had slept as well as he had on that couch was because he’d been completely enveloped by that familiar scent.

But at least now his clothes fit. Truth be told, he had been surprised by the state of the trunk. The clothes had been folded neatly, covered by a small handwritten note by Oeznik, telling him he was glad to hear he was out, for now.

The luggage didn’t seem damaged, the clothes didn't seem rummaged. Zemo wondered if it had gone through any security at all.

Now he almost regretted telling Oeznik not to pack anything “special” when he’d gotten those two minutes to talk to him on the phone.

“I was thinking carbonara for lunch,” James started. “But if you want something else…”

“Carbonara sounds great, James. May I help?”

---

Zemo prepared the sauce while James stirred the pasta. Neither spoke. The silence was interesting. Between the sound of the boiling water and sizzling garlic, Zemo wasn't sure if he could hear the gears turning in James' head, or if in fact neither of them were thinking about much at all.

The baron for his part was focused in his work, happy to do something with his hands, something he was familiar with. Something he enjoyed.

The silence didn't feel uncomfortable either. Neither cared to talk, because they both knew they didn't have to. Zemo didn’t need instructions, and when James spoke, it was only in one word sentences: “salt”, “plates”, “forks.”

Simple and effective.

It should have felt cold and callous, and yet it somehow felt anything but. They were working together again, so easily that they didn’t need words. Like clockwork.

Once everything was done, James grabbed his plate and instead of sitting down at the counter or dining table, he went straight for the sofa, dropping down on it with a loud sigh.

“What are you doing?” Zemo asked, holding his own plate as he watched James lean back.

“Eating?”

On the sofa?

Zemo bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from complaining. He took a deep breath before slowly following him.

“This is really good,” James said with his mouth half-full. He was lounging with one leg hanging over the edge of the couch and the other bent across the cushions. Zemo hesitantly sat down at the other end.

“It was a joint effort,” Zemo managed before carefully eating a fork full, making sure not to drip all over the place. When he glanced up, he met James’ gaze. He hated the way he was looking at him. He pointed at the wall with his fork to divert his attention. “What’s with the empty space?”

“Oh, that.” James ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, that’s just one of the therapy rules.”

A surge of anger rushed through him. What? “Therapy rule?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” James said, looking down at his food before continuing to eat.

Zemo stared at the wall, tapping his finger against his plate. “They took away your TV privileges?”

How old did they think James was, twelve?

Zemo held his breath as memories of his family suddenly resurfaced. He blinked, forcing the thoughts aside.

“I said I don’t wanna talk about it. Stop pushing it.”

“But you do know,” Zemo said as he continued to eat, “we will need to talk about it sometime.”

“Yeah. Not now.”

“Is it because you’re not supposed to know what's going on in the world?”

James glared at him. Zemo couldn’t help himself. He was worse that the people in those psychological experiments, where pressing a button zapped you with electricity. Even if it was painful, people would still press it, preferring the pain over numbing boredom. Only Zemo was pressing it just for the fun of it. Because he enjoyed it.

“They don’t want me getting involved before I’m ready,” James explained. “It’s supposed to make it easier for me to stay put and… recover.”

“So you don’t feel tempted to join some fight.”

James wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah.”

“I understand.” Zemo ate some more. “Does make everything quite dull though, doesn’t it? Even I had a radio in my cell. It was one of the more pleasant distractions of my incarceration.” Zemo left out the fact that their calls were the most pleasant distraction, but he was sure James knew that already.

“That’s why I hate this.”

“What do you do all day?”

“Sit around. Wait. Catch up on my reading list. Go running until I can’t feel my legs. I don’t know. Wait for things to get better.”

“But they don’t.”

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder.”

“Have you ever considered this is not helping?”

James flinched. “I’m at the end of the rope here, Zemo. They’ve tried everything with me.”

“Well, they are idiots.”

James actually laughed at that, digging his fork into the noodles. “Yeah, I tell myself that a lot too.”

“Well you haven’t tried me yet, so there is still hope.” Zemo froze as soon as the words slipped out.

James’ fork paused and those eyes stared into his soul, like the man was trying to figure out what the fuck he had just meant.

Zemo cleared his throat. “Tried, therapy, or, well, not… well something akin to it anyway. You haven’t tried that with… I’m going to refill my water.”

Zemo quickly put his plate on the coffee table and dashed to the kitchen. He watched the cold water pour into his glass. His face was on fire. He desperately wanted to dive his face in the water to cool off. Or better yet, drown himself.

Instead, he took his time, hoping the blush and that uneasy feeling subsided by the time he was back.

When he slowly sat back down, James, of course, was still staring at him.

“Do you miss it, the fighting?” Zemo said as he picked up his plate, trying to change the subject, downing the spaghetti to give his mouth something to do other than spew impulsive nonsense.

“Yeah,” James mumbled, thankfully looking back down at his food before slowly continuing to eat.

Zemo let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Thank the gods that James was willing to change the subject.

“Fighting is the one thing I’m good at.”

I'm sure you’re good at a lot of other things, James.

Zemo cursed at himself. He had to stop letting his thoughts run astray the same way his mouth was.

But then he said the words on the tip of his tongue anyway. “Okay. Then let’s fight.”

James did a double take. “Sorry what?”

“Let’s fight, James. We should do something you enjoy.”

James chuckled. “I’d beat your ass.”

That was the smile Zemo lived for. “You can try,” he replied, grin forming on his own lips.

Chapter Text

James

Well you haven’t tried me yet, so there is still hope.

James tried to keep in his chuckle as he thought back to the baron’s unfortunate wording. It kept repeating in his head over and over again, even as he changed into something lighter for the fight.

He still couldn’t believe the baron had proposed for them to spar. He’d have thought Zemo actually did want to die, if it hadn’t been for earlier.

Ever since moving in, James had rarely bothered cooking anything. It wasn’t worth the time or effort. Why go through all the trouble when he could just order takeaway? But cooking with Zemo had been easy. It had been comfortably silent, their movements synced. At times, James almost forgot that someone else was in his space. The space he thought would remain empty forever.

And then, sitting on the couch, he'd been surprised by his own ease. He didn’t feel invaded by the presence on the other end of the sofa. He didn’t feel like he had to pretend. Or like he had to wait for Zemo to betray him.

He realized he was slipping into the same comfort he’d fallen into with the baron during Madripoor.

Still, the guy was fucking annoying with his jabs, asking him about the stupid therapy rules. James knew if he told him all of it, Zemo would have a fit. James wasn’t looking forward to Zemo’s anger outburst. He could almost hear the baron’s reaction in his head: “why did you ever agree to these outrageous rules?”

He wouldn’t tell him everything. Not yet. Not today, anyway.

When James was done changing, he returned to the living room. He found it empty, Zemo gone. For a second, the idea passed through Bucky’s mind that maybe he did run off. But he pushed the thought aside as he stepped outside. The afternoon sun shone as he strolled to find the baron in a nice bark mulch patch of the garden, under the shade of the nearby oak tree, leaves fluttering in the light breeze. The red line further off on the grass was still as vibrant as the day it had been drawn. James realized in that moment how recent it had been drawn at all. It felt like years already.

He turned his attention back to Zemo, who was warming up. He’d changed into something more comfortable as well. Now they were both in shirts and sweatpants. James had the advantage of a fucking vibranium arm, but if Zemo insisted...

“You sure you want to do this?” James asked again, cracking his neck.

“Yes,” Zemo replied for the fifth time, stretching his arms before getting into position. “Well, show me what you’ve got.”

James gave him a mischievous smile, already giddy. “You’re going to regret this.”

Zemo

“Trust me, I already do.” Zemo was slightly out of breath from the warm-up. He was not in best shape, but he knew that it wouldn’t take much for him to fall back into form either.

And the sight of James in those loose clothes, the anticipation of his hands on him, that got his blood racing too.

Then James came at him, and Zemo’s mind focused.

The first attack was fast but Zemo saw it coming, dodging his arm with a quick step to the side. “You will have to be faster than that.” His smirk must have gotten to James because within a split second, his vibranium hand had caught the top of his arm. Zemo only just had the time to spin out of his grasp.

They moved fast then, Zemo somewhat managing to block Bucky’s attacks or dodge at the last second.

After ducking from another attempted grappling hold, he pulled on Bucky’s arm, swirling his own body around him. He managed to knock his foot against his leg, getting him off-balance. But James managed to wrangle out of his grasp without falling on the ground.

His sudden laugh caught Zemo off-guard for the second that it took for James to spin back towards him and tackle him, his shoulder catching him right in his chest.

Air was smacked from his lungs as Zemo was knocked onto the ground. He rolled onto his stomach to get away, but James was fast, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind him, knee pressing onto the small of his back, rendering him immobile.

Zemo wanted to say something smart or sassy, but it was hard to breathe like this, let alone think, with Bucky panting down on him. Zemo could feel his weight. “Well done,” he managed to croak.

“I don’t need your approval.” The knee left his back. Zemo coughed, gulping in air fast. James released his wrist, blood rushing back to his hand as he clenched and unclenched it. He slowly steadied himself to sit up, wiping first sweat from his brow.

“You’re slow,” James told him.

I was distracted. “Compared to you, perhaps,” he got up on one knee before standing before him. “You do have a slight advantage.”

“I like this exercise.”

Zemo feigned surprise. “Is that so?”

“It’s more fun than what my therapist made me do,” he said, getting back into an en guard position. Zemo rolled his neck and followed his lead.

“What did she make you do?” he asked.

“Made me talk about my feelings.” James went in for the attack but Zemo dodged again. “Made me soul gaze with Sam.”

“That sounds like fun.” Zemo tried an attack this time, catching Bucky’s arm, but James twisted himself out of his hold without the slightest sign of struggle. “Maybe we should try it.”

Before he could blink, James twirled him around and caught him from behind, wrapping his metal arm around his throat. Zemo grabbed onto the arm, mind blanking out.

“Not in a million years,” James huffed, his breath in Zemo’s ear.

Zemo was stuck, but the hold wasn’t tight enough to actually hurt. He swallowed hard, trying not to push back into Bucky’s heat.

Then James suddenly let him go.

Zemo caught himself from tumbling down on his knees, trying not to let his disappointment show as he rubbed his throat.

“Did the therapy help at all?” Zemo turned to see Bucky all set for another round. So was he.

“Sure it did.” He went in but Zemo danced out of the way once more. “You need to stop dodging the first moves, you’re just delaying the inevitable.”

“Indulge me.”

James laughed and grabbed Zemo’s arm, twisting it to force him around and onto his knees.

Zemo used the momentum to his advantage, holding on to James and heaving him over his shoulder, smacking him on the ground in front of him.

But James seemed to have the same idea, keeping a hold on his arm before doing the exact same thing, flipping him over on top of him so that Zemo’s back thumped against James’ chest.

Before Zemo could even scramble away, James wrapped his legs around his, arms tight in a grappling hold, forcing Zemo in an uncomfortable twist without any way out.

“This is unfair,” he puffed.

“Reconsidering, Zemo? Cute.” James breathed hard against into his damp hair. “This was your idea.”

“Touché.” Zemo took a deep breath. He had to remind himself that this wasn’t about showing off combat skills, or trying to prove who the better fighter was. This was about James being able to do something he was comfortable with, something where he felt himself, like he belonged. This was about him. Still, Zemo couldn’t help the emotions it steered up in him, being in his hold, unable to fight it.

And it wasn’t just jealousy.

“I can stop if it’s too much,” James whispered smugly, as if he had heard Zemo’s thoughts. He was still holding him. James could keep him like this forever and Zemo wouldn’t be able to do one thing about it.

“I can take it,” he snarled back.

He could feel Bucky’s smile. He swore he felt the arm tighten just a tiniest bit more before it loosened and James let him go.

Zemo dusted himself off as he stood, trying to shake away the feeling of being pressed to James, so close he could feel his heat through the thin layers of clothing. Wrapped by his smell—

The sweep of Bucky’s foot came out of nowhere.

The world spun as Zemo's back hit the ground.

James appeared above him, hair swaying, hands on his hips. “I can’t believe it. You’re actually getting worse.”

Zemo took his time getting up this time, turning away so that James wouldn’t see his annoyed expression.

But then a hand grabbed his shoulder. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, perhaps a tad too quickly and too defensively.

James reached lower and grabbed his arm to help him up. Zemo didn’t even bother fighting him off. He was up on his feet before he could have even complained.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

James gave him a concerned look, eyes racing over his body. It made Zemo heart ache. “Maybe we should actually take a break.”

“I appreciate your empathy, James, but I’m good if you are.”

James shook his head. “I’ll never understand you.”

“I think you already do.”

“I’m not falling for that psychic bullshit. What is this, Zemo? Are you trying to get hurt? This is an uneven playing ground and you know it. You know how this is going to end.”

“Again.”

“You’re more like Steve than you realize, you know.”

That did it. Zemo suddenly went in for the attack, swift and efficient in his movements. He didn’t hold back. He threw one punch after the next, but James stopped every single one.

Zemo was sweating hard by the time James decided to switch from defense to offense, attempting to grab at Zemo as the baron desperately tried to dodge him and regain the upper hand, or at least keep up. James was really smiling now, letting himself shine as he moved so gracefully and quickly. Somehow, he was getting faster and more precise with each second while Zemo was slowly but surely running out of breath and stamina.

It was no wonder Zemo was surprised when he actually did manage to latch onto Bucky and spin him onto the ground.

The baron didn’t give him a second to react, quickly straddling him and holding him down. He tried to catch his breath as his hair dripped from the sweat. “For all— your moves, god, you are… predictable, James,” Zemo huffed. “Thank you for letting me win.”

Bucky had done it on purpose, had given Zemo the chance to win one round at least. Zemo would have hated the pity move, but he was sitting on top of James right now, so he wasn't going to start complaining.

And the way James smiled up at him... out of nowhere, James grabbed him and whirled him around. Zemo gasped as his back hit the soft ground. So much for that.

Bucky’s smile widened as he looked down at him. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

Zemo gulped. “I don’t blame you.” He glanced at his lips. “I would have done the same thing.”

James was out of breath, but it nothing compared to how Zemo was panting. “Are you done yet?”

“Never.”

James laughed again. A real, open mouthed laugh. Zemo could barely believe he had the honor to witness such a sight, let alone be the cause of it.

“Are you?” Zemo asked him.

James met his gaze, his eyes dark, a heat inside of them that made breathing even harder. Zemo bit the inside of his lips. Being in such proximity to this man was going to be the death of him. It was a sweet torture, being so close, yet so far away. Zemo had to force himself to stay still. To not to rock up into him, not to lick his lips, not to let his eyes roll to the back of his head as he imagined when James could do to him.

Not the time or place.

“Let’s call it a day,” James muttered, snapping Zemo back out of his fantasies.

He quickly grabbed a hold of Bucky’s shirt. “If you want to keeping going—”

“You’re literally dripping with sweat and your wheezing is painful to listen to. You’re going to pass out on me.”

Zemo frowned up at him, eyes darting across his face, hand still tight in his shirt. “Why would that bother you?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Zemo.” He slowly covered Zemo's hand with his own and pulled it away. James kept a hold on him, looking down where his fingers touched the baron’s palm, in thought. Zemo stayed quiet and still, afraid of breaking the moment. Bucky’s fingers ran along his skin softly, as if to scrutinize it. “Let’s call it a day,” he said absentmindedly before slowly lifting himself away. “You can shower downstairs, I’ll take upstairs.”

James

James could barely focus on the water splashing down his body, too lost in memories of their fight. Of the feel of Zemo against his skin. He wanted to melt into that sweaty body of his, wrap himself around him. Kiss him. Fuck him.

James shook his head, letting the icy water fall on his face. Fuck, he had to knock these inappropriate ideas out of himself. It wasn’t right. Zemo was here to help him, it was all in the parole agreement. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn't supposed to feel. Feel like… like he had... suddenly memories of the wet dream resurfaced.

A surge of heat rushed through him, and not just from the memory of making out with Zemo in his dream. No, what really hit him was that Zemo had probably heard him moan on that call. Maybe even whisper his name.

He wondered what the baron had thought, hearing him. Why Zemo hadn’t hung up. Why he’d stayed.

James wasn’t able to stop his metal hand from wandering down, the other hand grabbing at the tiles for leverage.

Leverage.

Fuck.

He spluttered out the water that got into his mouth. He wasn’t- supposed to- He sighed as he moved his hand to a steady beat.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

But who fucking cared?

It wasn’t like Zemo would ever know.

This was just to relieve the tension.

He tried to think of something else, just some fantasy. Anything. Anyone.

Anyone at all.

He found nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Nothing but Zemo’s weight on him in the garden, his legs wrapping around him, holding him in his grasp, that body squirming, bulking back into him.

God, the thought alone got him so hard.

He breathed fast as he imagined the way Zemo would cry out in surprise if James grabbed him just the right way. And then the way he would moan, like the lewd baron that he was.

James gasped in the falling water.

He imagined forcing that man down. The baron wouldn’t be able to escape his grasp but he wouldn’t be fighting it either. It was so easy to imagine Zemo whining underneath him. Not from pain, but from pleasure.

Would Zemo thank him for it? Beg him for more? Moan out his name?

That finally did it.

James punched the tile so hard it cracked, tensing his jaw to hold back from crying out.

The high of the release was something James hadn’t felt in a long time, but the clarity that came after hit him all the harder. He blushed as he quickly washed away all proof of his lapse in judgment. He was an idiot for indulging in his fantasies.

Even if he hadn’t had a choice when he'd dreamed about Zemo, he’d definitely made the choice to seek out his pleasure now.

This was on his conscience.

Another wave of guilt hit him hard. He quickly finished washing himself off before stepping out of the shower and scrubbing himself dry, trying to get his mind off of what he’d just let himself do.

He tried to blame it on not having been touched in so long, but it was hard to find a good excuse.

He prayed he’d not blush too hard once he’d thrown on some quick loose clothes. When he slowly came down the stairs, he paused at the sight of Zemo glancing at him from the couch, in his soft clothes, a towel around his shoulders.

They stared at each other for a moment. James swore he noticed Zemo’s cheeks turn pink before he quickly turned to the bookshelf and grabbed a book.

“I uh,” Zemo muttered quietly, motioning to the book, flipping through its pages. “I was going to read a bit, get some down time, after…” He gulped.

“Yeah. Sure.” James watched him hurry to the porch and sit down in the afternoon sun.

Had James hallucinated it? Had Zemo acted even more awkward than he had felt?

What the f-

Zemo

Zemo couldn’t help himself. As soon as he was in the shower, he was a lost cause. Getting off in Bucky’s downstairs shower had definitely not been on his bucket list, but there was no way he was going to be able to stop himself now. His thoughts kept rewinding, going back to being held down by James, that adrenaline crashing through him... the want… the need…

He hadn’t had much privacy at the Raft, camera always on him, so he’d barely touched himself there. He’d spent months without giving in to that human instinct. And now here he was, alone in this nice shower, after having been pinned down by James, with that smile of his.

What was he supposed to do?

Zemo squeezed his warm skin, breath stuttering as he pressed his forehead to the tiles, wet hair dripping as the water poured. He opened his mouth to breath through it, letting the fantasies flow through him. James, holding him down, kissing him hard. Slapping him maybe, if Zemo had pissed him off.

He managed to quickly cover his mouth with his free hand before he keened into it. He’d be damned if the super soldier heard him moan through the house.

Moan…

He thought back to Bucky’s dream, when Zemo had overheard him sigh his name. But who knew what he had really been dreaming about.

Could have been anything.

But what if it really was about him?

Fuck.

His hand was moving faster now. It had a mind of its own. Not that he had control over his actual mind either, as it lost itself in what-ifs. If James had grabbed him tight and held him down outside, if he had used him, had his way with him. It wasn’t like Zemo would have been able to fight his strength, that metal hand on his throat, choking him.

Zemo shuddered, feeling himself rush to the edge.

The dirty words James would snarl into his ear as he’d pound into him like he owned him.

Zemo pressed his hand against his mouth with all his might as he came hard, whining James’ name.

Chapter Text

James

James could smell the omelette all the way to his room when he woke up. He wondered whether the baron was going to burn down the kitchen as he changed into something comfortable before heading downstairs.

He couldn’t remember what he had dreamed of, if anything. He was grateful for it, because it meant he was spared from the terrors if he’d had nightmares, and spared from a whole other kind of embarrassing terror if he had dreamed about Zemo again. God knew James was already ashamed of the way he’d let himself go in the shower. Dinner with the baron had felt surprisingly easy, but all those imagined scenarios from that moment of weakness had kept flashing in his mind. He’d barely been able to meet Zemo’s gaze, disappearing for an early night in.

James paused as he turned to the kitchen. That very same man was whistling as he flipped a spatula in his hand, the eggs sizzling in the pan.

“What are you…”

Zemo glanced up at him, unfazed. “I woke up early. I thought I would make us breakfast.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” Zemo motioned, turning back to the stove. “Sit down.”

Bucky’s legs moved on their own. He slowly sat down at the counter. Orange juice, water, and coffee was already there, the table set with everything he needed.

Cautiously, he picked up his mug. The coffee was black with no sugar, just how he liked it.

James took a deep breath, allowing his eyes to glance up again, watching Zemo cook with his back to him. He was moving around as he cooked, like he didn’t have a single care in the world. Bucky’s eyes began wandering all on their own, down his sides, following his back down, down—

Zemo suddenly turned around. James blushed, quickly sipping his coffee, cursing as the drink burned the inside of his mouth. But the baron didn’t seem to notice as he leaned over to slide half of a perfectly cooked omelette onto his plate before serving himself the rest. With a sigh of satisfaction, he sat down across from him.

“Enjoy,” he said before digging in, eating like James would have expected a baron to eat. Not like the starved animal he’d been just a few days before. He'd already changed so much in so little time.

James looked down at the steaming meal.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he told him as guilt swam around in his chest. “You don’t owe me anything.” Zemo paused and met his gaze. The silence that followed was suffocating. James gulped. “I wanted you here to help with the nightmares. You don’t need to do anything else to prove your worth. Or your stay, or... whatever.” How bad was the Raft if Zemo was cooking for him to placate him?

Then again, the same baron kept riling him up. The man was a paradoxical mystery.

“James,” Zemo started, setting down his fork. “I wanted to have nice breakfast. Something pleasant. For the both of us.”

Or maybe it was because the fight had reminded him that he’d stand no chance in a physical duel.

“I just… I’m not your prison guard. And you’re not my prisoner.”

“I’m not?” he asked with a sly smile, tilting his head. It made James feel weird, how casual Zemo seemed about this prospect. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I don’t want things to feel weird, or... imbalanced.” Even if things were imbalanced. Fucking insanely imbalanced. James could kill the man so easily, with his serum and arm. It wasn’t right, but it was their reality.

“You’re the super soldier here,” Zemo said, speaking Bucky’s thoughts. “You hold all the power.” For some reason, that wording made a sudden heat rush through him, instead of guilt. Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to feel excited. He was supposed to feel ashamed.

Zemo

Zemo didn’t know what it was that made him keep talking. Maybe it was some newfound impulsiveness, born of his horrible indulgence in the shower the other day. But he kept speaking, his tone easy-going. “You could break my neck without breaking a sweat. You could hold me down, I would not be able to fight back. We are both aware of that. You choose not to. That is your prerogative, not mine. Which means I am your prisoner, whether or not you like it. Whether or not I like it.”

Zemo didn’t know if he was imagining those pupils dilate, that look on his face grow hungry. And not for the omelette.

Or maybe it was just his own lewd mind playing tricks on him.

“Do you?” James asked quietly.

“Do I what?” Zemo lifted his water to his lips.

“Do you like it? You want me to hold you down?”

Zemo almost choked on his drink. He quickly grabbed a napkin and coughed into it, trying to clear his throat before quickly sipping some of his coffee, cursing in his head as it burned the inside of his mouth.

James smiled. “Another spar session is in order then. But not any time soon. Only once you’ve really regained your strength.” James started digging in. Zemo glared at him. How on earth was Bucky the composed one right now? This was unfair. “Yesterday,” he continued, mouth half-full, “was just plain cruel.”

“Not as long as you enjoyed it.”

“Well I did,” he mumbled. Zemo dared to meet his gaze. Was he blushing? “Did you enjoy it?”

Zemo’s mind suddenly went right back to the hot shower.

Did you enjoy it?

Zemo took a deep breath. “It was a nice change of pace.” Pace. Fuck. Get back to the topic of fighting! “But I agree. I should recover fully before taking you on again. Maybe I’ll have the occasion to actually win.”

James’ smiled widened. “You think you’ll ever stand a chance?”

“Of course. I have tricks up my sleeve.”

“Can’t wait to see them in action,” James said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Zemo bit the inside of his lip as he watched the man smile.

Then another memory of the shower flashed through his mind: James holding him by the back of his throat, biting hard into the skin where his neck met his shoulder, growling into his ear, "mine".

Zemo cleared his throat as he quickly continued eating.

Fuck. He’d hoped letting out all of that sexual frustration would make things easier. Instead, they’d made everything worse.

Laying on the couch last night, it had been impossible for him to relax, lost in fantasies of James suddenly coming down those stairs, grabbing him, straddling him, pressing his vibranium hand against his neck.

So Zemo had turned to the only distraction he could think of, a little project of his, before his mind finally let him fall asleep.

“I realized I never properly showed you around the house,” James said as he finished his plate, bringing Zemo out of his thoughts. He stood when Zemo was done eating. “I wanted to show you the basement.”

“Is that where you will tie me up?” Zemo asked as he slowly followed him.

James just turned to flash him a smile before making down a stairwell, next to the stairs that led up to his room. Zemo was dying to see that bedroom. For security purposes of course, to get a better idea of the layout of the house. But at present, he followed James downwards. Bucky clicked on the lights to the cellar.

Old lights flickered on.

The space was bigger than Zemo anticipated, and looked old and gray, but it somehow had a charm to it.

James

James turned to Zemo to take in his reaction, the glint in his eyes as he looked around.

“Nice wine corner,” he mused, strolling towards the wine rack, filled with various wine bottles. He pulled a few of them out, skimming through their labels until he came to one of the peculiar bottles. “What’s this one?”

Before James could stop him, he'd uncorked a half-full one to sniff it. He coughed just as James snatched it away. “Don’t drink that.”

“Is that,” Zemo started as he wrinkled his nose, blinking slowly. He stumbled backwards but James caught him just before his legs gave out. “That… is strong.”

Zemo inhaled shallow breaths through his mouth, clearly trying to stabilize himself. His gaze found Bucky's hand on his bicep. His eyes traced up his arm before settling on his lips, his pupils dilating.

“Very strong,” he mumbled. He was blinking again, like he couldn't focus.

“Shit Zemo, you got yourself intoxicated just from inhaling that. You wanna sit down?”

The baron shook his head but even just that movement made him stagger in his hold.

James cursed under his breath. “It should pass in a moment. You're even more impulsive than I am sometimes, you know.”

Zemo nodded, taking deep breaths, gaze finding his eyes. James felt that weird tight warmth inside of him as the baron stared up at him. For a second, it looked like he wanted to say something before holding himself back.

Slowly, he regained his footing, coming down from that high, though he still looked flustered. “Is that what you drink?” he finally asked.

“Found it online,” James told him as he placed it away, next to all the other bottles of the same kind, all while keeping a firm hand still on Zemo's arm. “You can’t drink that shit. It’ll kill you.”

“I, uh… gathered that after smelling it.” Zemo sighed. “I’m surprised it hasn’t killed you.”

“It’s the only stuff that works on me.”

“I can't imagine the taste being very... pleasant.”

James gave him a look. “It wasn't. But it helped. Momentarily. To forget.”

“James.” Zemo was using his chiding voice again. Which meant the intoxication had passed. Still, James kept his hand on that arm. Just in case. “You know the drinking made everything worse.”

“You're one to lecture me on that. And anyway, it’s not a problem now. I have you here so, I mean...” James retracted his hand and turned away, running it through his hair instead. What the fuck was he saying? “Anywhere, here’s the workout corner.”

He motioned at the punching bag and bench press and dumbbells.

“Fascinating,” Zemo said, followed by the smallest of chuckles.

James’ eyes went wide when he realized why Zemo had laughed. He hurriedly strolled forwards to rip away the sketch tapped to the punching bag. He bunched up the paper and throw it in the corner, aiming for the bin but missing. He ignored that. “I used to, um, work out down here. But I think outside is nicer.”

“I hope that wasn’t a drawing of me on there.”

“You?” James laughed nervously, running his hand through his hair again. “No.”

He realized Zemo was looking at him with his intense gaze again.

James cracked under the pressure. “It was Raynor. In a moment of anger, I… I don’t know. Had to get out the anger somehow.” James played with the punching bag, knocking his fist against it halfheartedly.

“Do you want to talk about it? About her, and the therapy?”

“Not really,” James told him. Zemo nodded, thankfully not insisting on it. “I want to show you something else.”

Zemo smiled, motioning. “Lead the way.”

James strolled back up the stairs and through the living room to the terrace door.

“What about upstairs?”

James turned to the baron, who was swaying hesitantly by the stairs that led up even further. Suddenly his heart was beating faster. Why did Zemo want to see his bedroom?

He quickly turned around so that baron wouldn’t see his flushed face. “Not now, come on.”

James led the way across the garden and to the garage, thankful for the cool fresh air. He pushed against the old side door. It groaned as it creaked open.

“Voila.” James motioned at the shabby room, at the cabinets and dusty shelves filled with tools, all rusty and oily and in complete disorder.

Zemo looked around at the mess, inspecting the equipment haphazardly thrown all over the tables. “This place has seen better days. What's under here?”

He was pointing at the car, covered in a tarp, taking up most of the space in the room.

“I was hoping you'd ask.” James pulled the cover from the vehicle. “This up to your standards? A 1969 Ford Mustang convertible.”

“An old beauty,” Zemo mused, fingers running along the hood. James found himself mesmerized by those fingers, the way they touched so carefully. How those fingers would feel tracing his skin— “James?”

“Hmm?” James quickly glanced up at him, pressing his hands into his pockets.

“Are you okay? You seemed like you were somewhere else.”

“No, I’m fine. Anyway,” he nodded at the car, “might be an old beauty, but it won’t start.”

“I wonder why.” Zemo sighed, and James thought he heard him mutter something under his breath. Something about imprisonment.

“You think they gave me a broken car on purpose?”

“I’m surprised there’s a car at all, James,” Zemo smirked. “Or a garage.”

James had also at first felt like it was mockery, that they had given him, a broken killing machine, another broken machine. But over time, he gathered it had just come with the property and that they hadn’t bothered to clean out the garage and renovate it the same way they had renovated the main house. He didn’t care. He wasn’t picky. But he knew Zemo liked old cars, so he’d been looking forward to showing it to him.

“Well,” James continued, “I was thinking… Raynor once told me sorting things out could help, you know, mentally, and this place is a mess so… You want to help me sort things out?”

Zemo smiled. “For once, your therapist had some good advice.” James rolled his eyes at that. “Of course. My pleasure.”

James turned away yet again to hide the way his body betrayed him at those words. “Okay, let’s get to work then.”

---

Zemo

Zemo’s mind was a lost cause. He was deranged. Every time he blinked, he was back outside, struggling against that firm, hot hold. Or pinned down in the living room, or choked on that plane. Or he was back in that shower. Or being held by James after inhaling those ethanol fumes.

His lewd thoughts were chasing him constantly. It was like a vicious cycle, with no end in sight.

He tried to concentrate on the words on the page, but James reading just a few feet away, munching on those snacks, had his entire attention – even if he never dared to actually look up.

Despite the shortcomings of Bucky’s therapist, Zemo couldn’t deny that it had felt good decluttering that messy garage. Again, the two of them had worked well side by side. There had been no need to speak. Things worked flawlessly without having to resort to words. And Zemo had even found just the right tools he’d needed, a screwdriver and some pliers.

When James had turned away, he’d slipped them into his pocket.

All in all, the tidying had done him good, and James looked happier too, more relaxed.

Zemo supposed that it was about time that he devised a plan for approaching James about his night terrors. But he wasn’t sure what would work best. This wasn’t the same as calling on the phone. Being here in person changed everything. And he also knew that once he made a plan, everything would fall apart. He hadn’t lied: James and plans did not go hand in hand.

Just see where things lead you naturally, the easygoing part of his mind mused.

And what if they lead me into something I cannot crawl back out of?

Zemo found himself glancing up, watching James read with that slight frown on his face.

A bit too late for that.

“You tired?” James mumbled, those bright eyes suddenly on him.

He couldn’t breathe anymore. “Not really,” he managed to answer anyway.

James hummed. “I am. Good night.”

With that, he tossed his book on the coffee table, stretched, and made to the stairs.

Zemo watched him with interest. At the bottom of the stairs, James lingered, hesitating.

“James?”

“Good night,” he said, turning his head half way before heading up with heavy steps, like he was walking up the stairway to doom.

James

He knew he was going to have nightmares. He'd somehow felt it during the evening. Zemo's presence helped ward off the horrible fear. But James had known he couldn't stay awake forever. So he'd opted to go to bed early and have it done and over with.

Being upstairs, alone, it felt... It felt like it had, before Zemo had come to him. He was alone. The room was eerily empty, even if Zemo had never been up here.

But James might as well have been completely alone. He closed the door behind him and sighed against it. All he had to do was fall asleep and wake up tomorrow morning. Then he could go back down and Zemo would be there. How hard could it be?

---

He woke with tears still wet on his cheeks, the darkness pressing in from outside the windows.

He hadn't made it through the night, big surprise. At least his sheets weren’t soaked in sweat. It had just been a normal nightmare – not a full-blown night terror. Still, he had to walk it off, get something cool in his system.

The house was quiet as he slowly made his way down the stairs.

He was just about to turn to the dim kitchen when he realized the couch was empty, blanket half on the floor.

Shit.

“Zemo?!”

He was certain he wasn’t going to get a response, but then he noticed the light through the bottom of the bathroom door. “In here!”

Bucky let out a long breath. God, he was overreacting.

He switched on the small kitchen lights and went straight for the fridge, getting ice and a glass of water.

Zemo emerged from the bathroom a moment later. James couldn’t help but assume Zemo had been scheming in there. The baron didn’t look tired. He looked alert, even in that tank top and shorts, and… was he still wearing his fucking bathrobe?

“What is it?” he asked as he tied the robe shut. His robe. It might something tighten inside of Bucky's chest.

“Nothing. I was wondering where you were.”

Zemo smiled, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Where would I be? You know I can’t go beyond the property lines.”

“Sure,” Bucky sipped the water, feeling the ice cold roll down through him like a wave of fresh air. “Go on then, take it off.”

Zemo froze. James thought he saw him blush. “What?”

Well shit. James cleared his throat, quickly motioning to his leg, trying not to blush as well. “The ankle monitor, Zemo. I know you’ve already found a way to remove it without triggering it.”

Zemo tsked. “James, James, James. Always assuming I’m up to no good.”

“Okay then, prove me wrong. Take it off.”

Zemo gave him a look before he begrudgingly got down on one knee and carefully clicked off the monitor. He removed it from his ankle. The light remained green as he held it up. “There. Are you happy?”

James gave him a sarcastic smile. “Very.”

“I figured I might need to leave the perimeter in case of an emergency.”

“Sure.” He motioned for him to hand it over. “Where are you going to go?”

Zemo tossed it and James caught the bulky tech. “Go? What do you mean?”

“You do know you could go anywhere you wanted now, right? I promise I won’t tell on you like last time.”

Zemo gave him a look James couldn’t place. “Do you want me to leave?”

James stared at him as he stared back. “I just thought… you know, you could go anywhere and everywhere. This is like… the most boring spot in the whole universe.”

“The whole universe sounds quite exhausting. And I have no wish to be on the run for the rest of my life.”

“So you want to stay.” James set the monitor on the counter, trying to keep his breathing steady.

“Legitimately, with a friend? Yes, I want to stay, James. If you’ll have me.”

James had to gulp to force down the fire whirling about in his chest. “We’re not friends, Zemo.”

He heard Zemo step closer, saw him tilting his head from the corner of his eyes. “Then what are we, James?”

James thought about Sam. “I don’t know, but friends is not it.”

“Why did you call?”

“Great question.” James placed the empty glass in the sink. “I’ve been asking myself that ever since that first night.”

“I know why you chose me, James.”

“Chose you?” James groaned, looking over at him. Oh god, here we go again. “Why do you think?”

Zemo stepped closer still. “Because out of everyone you know, I’m the only one who understands. I’m the only one who truly sees you for who you are. Not an ideal. Not your past. Just you, right now.”

Emotions flooded him as his throat tightened. James gulped again, which only made Zemo smile.

“Again, you came to me,” Zemo continued nearing him, eyes darting between his. “Because you knew I could help.” Zemo straightened his back. “So, tell me about it.”

James didn’t like how close he was. He could almost feel his heat. “About what?”

“About the nightmare.”

“What makes you think I had a nightmare?”

“It’s the middle of the night, James.”

“Maybe I was still up.”

“You went upstairs at nine sharp.” Touché. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Zemo sighed. “It would help.”

“Would it?”

“It did on our calls.”

James gnawed at his lip. It had become second nature to call him. Why was it so hard in person? He ran a hand through his long hair.

“So?”

“So what?”

“I’m listening.”

He gave Zemo a passive aggressive smile. “No, thank you.” He made to move past him but Zemo grabbed his arm at the last second. James was going to hit him away, but he managed to hold back his angry impulse. “Zemo,” he warned.

“I know you’re scared, but you need to face those fears and you know it.”

Bucky yanked his arm away. “Don’t tell me what to do. Just leave.”

---

The morning sun was golden as James stood over the couch. “You’re still here.”

Zemo didn't open his eyes as he replied. “That I am.”

James made them breakfast this time.

“I’m sorry, about last night,” James forced out quietly, sipping some tea. “I didn’t… I couldn’t…” He stared at the baron across the table from him. He was nodding. That was a good sign, right?

“It’s not easy.”

“But it felt…” Fuck. Why the fuck did he start that impulsive sentence? James diverted his eyes. “It felt easy… before.”

“It did.”

James swallowed the lump in his throat, holding his vibranium arm, half-hugging himself.

“I’ll try, next time, to talk about it.” He dared a glance at Zemo. “I will. I’ll try not to… be so… me.”

“No.” He thought he saw Zemo’s hand on the counter twitch forward, as if to reach out, before thinking better of it. “If it’s too hard, don’t do it. Don’t force yourself. I don’t want you to.”

Shivers ran up Bucky’s spine. The back of his Winter Soldier mind had sensed the order.

Those days are over.

“No, really, I should,” he quickly countered. “That’s what you’re here for. And you can’t help me if I don’t talk about it.”

“James… There are always other ways. You don’t need to be put on the spot. It won’t help if it makes you feel worse.”

James hesitated. “I’m just… If this doesn’t work out, if they send you back, and...” The idea of this failing, another fucking thing failing… James didn’t know if he could take it. This was the last straw. If this didn’t work… if this didn’t work then it was over. Might as well be done with it and—

Zemo’s hand suddenly reached out and softly covered his own. “James.” James wanted to jerk his hand away, like Zemo had burned him. Instead, he just stared down at their connection until Zemo quickly retracted his arm. “We will work something out,” he promised quietly. James allowed himself to take a steadying breath. “We will.”

James didn’t know what it was. If it was the tone of his voice or the sparkle in his eyes, but for some godforsaken reason, he trusted him. Almost.

Zemo’s expression changed, his eyes softening as they glanced between his. His voice was earnest. “At least you are not alone anymore.”

“Yeah.” James gave him a look. “I’m alone with you now. What could go wrong?”

“It has worked well so far, wouldn’t you say?” Zemo smiled. “And Sam will be here tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait,” James told him as he sipped his drink. “I can basically already see his annoyed expression when he finds out you’re still here, drawing breath. He'll be so mad when I tell him I don't have an excuse to send you back.”

Zemo chuckled at that.

“Are you scared?”

“Of what, Sam?”

“Of being sent back?”

Zemo gave him a nonchalant shrug, but James could tell he was hiding something. Maybe fear. “The Raft had its perks.”

James glared at him. “Like what?”

“It was good for reading.” James could sense the tension in the words, noticed the way his hands gripped his mug tighter.

“If it makes you feel better, I’m not going to be the one to send you back. And I’ll make sure Sam doesn’t either.”

James couldn’t help but notice the way Zemo’s shoulders relaxed, the way he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. But then, just as fast, he tensed again, like he was trying to protect himself from being let down. “Never say never.”

“I promise.”

Another exhale, this time through his mouth. Zemo glanced away. “Even if I continue trying your patience?”

“Being irritating is just you being you. So no. Not even then.”

Zemo met his gaze. “Okay.”

For some reason, James had the strange urge to grab his arm this time. Try and reassure him that he really meant it.

In the end, he just kept staring at the baron, hoping that his eyes spoke the promise for him.

Zemo

No one had hurt him at the Raft. Zemo hadn’t lied about that. The government wasn't sure if he’d ever come in handy for a mission or operation. And if he needed to be used, he needed to be healthy and presentable. And alive.

Berlin had been smart to put him on suicide watch after they’d found the razors in his books. The Raft, on the other hand, had been a bit slow on the uptake. Not to mention Zemo had been a bit faster than last time, having learned his lesson.

But dammit, T’Challa and his words. It was like a damned curse. The living never seemed to be done with him.

The way those guards had grabbed him, slashed through the belt he’d used. All that hard work with getting in everyone’s good graces, all of it gone because they’d been faster than he’d been.

He could only be grateful that the attempt had not soured his status in the prison. If anything, it had garnered sympathy from other inmates, even if the guards kept a closer watch on him.

Still, it had made making friends easier from then on out, even if Zemo had been making plans for a second attempt by the time James had called.

And, yet again, those plans were thrown out of the window.

The living still weren’t done with him.

But the man sitting across from the chess board, was he living? He’d been alive in Madripoor, Zemo had seen it with his own eyes. How much shame and guilt must have gnawed at him, and was maybe still gnawing at him, if he only felt alive when playing the Soldier?

Those eyes met his. The spark was still there. Or was it returning? Or was Zemo just imagining things?

Zemo had seen the same spark, in Berlin, that tempest behind those eyes, that magnificently fierce will to live inside of him, and the monstrous being, swirling about in his subconscious, not allowed out. And these people, trying so hard to suppress something so strong and relentless that had become a part of Bucky. The avengers with their glass cages that could not stop the Soldier, the Wakandans with their tech, attempting to draw the Soldier away, erase him from Bucky’s mind. All of it, to no success.

Something is still in there.

Zemo had still felt him that day and every day since. It was proof that super soldiers could not be controlled. That they could never be contained. That James could not be contained. This prison they had made for him, it could not last.

And Zemo realized, at that moment, that the government surely knew that as well.

So why? Why force him here, if they knew it was a temporary solution at best?

Fingers snapped in front of his face. “Zemo?”

Zemo shook his head, back in the present. “Sorry?”

“You were completely out of it. Like you were somewhere else.”

“Apologies, my mind must have wandered.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to make a move for like ten minutes.”

“I- what?”

“Really?”

“Ah,” Zemo chuckled nervously, remembering the chessboard. He quickly put on a focused expression, pretending to think about their game, when all he could think about were James’ words.

I’ve been waiting for you to make a move.

Waiting for you to make a move.

Make a move.

Make a move.

He moved his knight to take Bucky’s bishop, only for James to immediately swoop in and kill that knight with his queen.

Their fingers brushed for a moment when he took his piece.

Zemo’s breath stuttered at the brief touch.

Fuck.

The baron knew he could fight his own instincts and impulses all he wanted. In the end, the outcome was always going to be the same: he was going to cross a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

Make a move.

He knew himself enough to know that. Him, riling up James, it was going to get him killed, physically or emotionally or both.

Make a move.

If he had even the tiniest bit of self-preservation, Zemo knew the best move was to back out, to leave before he did something reckless. And yet, Zemo couldn't bring himself to. His desire to stay outweighed all the rest.

“Your turn,” James reminded him. “Go on, make a move.”

Chapter Text

James

James watched with crossed arms as Zemo clasped the monitor back onto his ankle. He tried not to let his eyes linger on the exposed skin. The sight made him feel breathless.

“So, what is the plan?” Zemo asked as pulled his pants over the bulk of the monitor, simultaneously pulling James from his daydreaming.

“Plan?”

“For when Sam arrives.”

“There is no- Actually, yeah, don’t antagonize him. Not like you do with me. He won’t understand and then he’d try to convince me to send you back.”

“Perhaps he will manage to sway your mind.”

“Nah. But it’ll be annoying as hell. He's just looking for an excuse to get you out of here. So… just don’t be so…”

“So me?” Zemo smirked.

Oh my fucking god. James had to fight hard not to roll his eyes. He checked his watch. Sam had written that he’d be there at three. It was now five to.

“You ready?” James asked just in case, even if he was rather asking the question to himself.

Zemo smiled. “Always.”

James nodded as he stepped to the door, pulling it open for some fresh air, before sitting on the porch steps to await Sam’s arrival. Zemo slowly followed him, leaning against the facade of the house. James glanced at his phone. “Should be here in a couple of minutes.”

God, he’d never felt this nervous. He tapped his fingers on the stairs. Then the whirling sound of an aircraft buzzed through the air. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” he reminded the baron as he got up.

“I would never dare.”

James’ heart was galloping, but his fears seemed to melt away from one moment to the next when Sam appeared out of the craft, carrying two bags.

They met halfway and Sam pulled him into a tight hug, patting his back, muttering stupid small talk. Like this was just... normal. Like James didn't have unofficial house arrest. Like Zemo wasn’t here on parole.

When Sam pulled back with a sigh, his eyes finally darted to the man still standing on the porch.

“Wow, Buck. Haven’t killed him yet? I’m impressed.”

“Okay, shut up,” James muttered, though there was no bite to his words. “Come on.”

The three of them entered the house, Sam placing the bags on the kitchen counter.

“The place hasn’t changed a bit,” Sam noted.

“What would have changed?”

Sam shrugged as he pulled off his jacket.

James eyed Zemo, who was awkwardly keeping a bit of distance.

“You mind giving us a minute?” he asked the baron, hoping he wouldn’t take it personally.

Zemo nodded. “Of course.” At least he didn’t seem offended. He strolled out the back door and onto the lawn, James watching his every step.

“You sure he won’t just run away?” Sam asked, watching him through the glass door as well.

“He’s got his ankle monitor on, remember?” James said sheepishly.

“Yeah, but if I know him, he’s probably already found a way to turn it off.”

James turned to Sam with a fake smile, shaking his head. “Nah. Not yet!”

“But tell me, how have you been?”

Thank god for the change in subject.

“Good,” he muttered, the response automatic. Until he realized it wasn't a lie. “Better.”

Sam shook his head. “Still can’t believe you did this again, getting him out. And what do you do all day, anyway? Is he like, acting as your therapist or doing therapy sessions? Because he’s not qualified to actually be-”

“I know, Sam. He’s just here for the company.”

“Oh because I’m so bad,” Sam said sarcastically. They both knew it wasn't an option anyway. His schedule was filled to the brim.

“You’re the new Cap,” James said, motioning with exaggeration at the title. “Can’t be cooped up in here with-” the bionic staring machine who’s killed almost everyone he’s met “-me.”

James pushed the memory away. It had just been a joke. And it was from ages ago.

“You’ll get out of this hellhole as soon as you’re ready, like Raynor said,” Sam reassured him, ignoring James' frown.

“Yeah. Like Raynor said.”

“But hey,” Sam grabbed his shoulder. “If the guy gives you shit or starts scheming, please, I would be more than happy to escort him back. Just say the word.”

“He knows what I’ve been through, Sam. I think this might actually work.”

“I mean you’re not wrong,” Sam glanced back out of the window. James turned around as well. Zemo was brooding, staring out onto the field, not dissimilar to the way he’d gazed up at the memorial in Sokovia that fateful day. I took the liberty of crossing off my name in your book. “I just need to think back to Madripoor. You two kinda match each other’s freak.”

James cleared his throat at that. “What did you bring?” he asked, trying to change the subject again.

“Ah yes. Fresh pie from the store to celebrate your insanity,” he started as he pulled out the cherry pie, “and some frozen Wilson Family Seafood, courtesy of Sarah. So you can actually cook something, instead of ordering take out.”

“How is she?” James asked as Sam passed him the package, insides still frozen.

Sam gave him a suspicious look. “She’s fine.”

James placed the bag in the freezer, putting it in the second drawer, not in the first one, where he was keeping another one of his guns. “You’ll tell her I said hello, yeah?” 

“How the hell are you flirting with her from thousands of miles away?”

James only chuckled as he took three plates out of the cabinet. “We should eat outside.”

“Zemo doesn’t get any pie,” Sam warned.

“Sam…”

“I’m just kidding,” Sam said, patting his arm with a laugh. Then he turned serious again. “Unless I’m not.” Then he gave a little smile. “Ah, just joking.” Then he gave him one last glare. “Unless I’m not.”

Oh dear lord. This was going to be fun.

***

Sitting outside for a late summer afternoon meal. On paper, it sounded convivial, relaxing, enjoyable. Probably could have been. And yet here they were, sitting around the outside table, slowly and quietly eating, the tension rising every damn second.

Sam was shooting deadly glances at Zemo across the small table, squinting his eyes like he was trying to decipher him, learn his schemes just by looking at him. And Zemo, the frustrating baron that he was, was simply meeting his gaze with interest. Like he couldn’t be bothered. With just the slightest smirk on his lips. Just enough to be visible, but also faint enough to have deniability.

And between them, at the end of the table, James was slowly eating, unable to fathom that he was the only person at this table who was acting like a normal person. James was usually the outcast, the weirdo. And now here he was, dealing with two petulant children.

James sighed, setting down his fork. “Will you two please stop fighting?”

“He started it,” Zemo said quickly, motioning at Sam death glare.

“I didn’t even do anything,” Sam snapped back.

James glared at Sam. “You look about two seconds away from jumping up on the table and strangling him to death.”

“May I?” he asked.

“No. He didn’t do anything either,” James answered as he served himself some more pie. “Neither of you are going to fight.”

“He’s looking at me with that look of his. With that cheeky little smile like he’s scheming up some shit. I don’t like it, Buck.”

“He’s making that face on purpose to annoy you.” James turned to Zemo. “Which you promised not to do, by the way.”

“Come on, James. At least let me have a little bit of fun.”

“See!” Sam pointed. “Now he’s just straight up admitting it! He’s up to no good.”

James groaned, sitting back. Why had he ever thought this a good idea? “Will you two please just cut it out?”

Zemo turned to him. “He’s the one —” James hit his leg under the table. He looked flustered now all of a sudden. “Nevermind. Apologies.”

It made Bucky's chest flutter, the way he just... complied.

You touch that again and I'll kill you.

“Not accepted,” Sam said, before grumpily digging in. James blinked, back at the table and no longer on that private jet, strangling the baron. It did feel like there was less oxygen, though.

“Any news from… well anywhere but here?” he asked, desperate to get them talking like normal people.

“Not much that I’m allowed to talk to you about,” Sam said between two bites. “Sorry. Rules are rules.”

James growled under his breath.

“But you are allowed to tell me, right?” Zemo started.

Sam glanced up at him, then glanced at James. Then back at him. “Always scheming. I knew it. But... yeah. I don’t see why not.”

“Then tell me, Sam,” Zemo said, leaning forward with a grin on his face. “What news from the outside world?”

And so Sam started telling him – but in reality telling James – of the happenings outside. Of his Captain America missions, working with Torres, the efforts of working with the government, the pressure of the position, even after all this time.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. Having everyone have so many expectations of me.”

“How do you do it?” James asked.

“Great question, James." Zemo turned to Sam. "How do you do it?”

James rolled his eyes.

Sam shrugged. “I just get through one day after the next. Try not to think about the big picture.”

“Good advice,” Zemo added.

“No one asked for you opinion, prima-donna.”

Zemo gasped, looking from Sam to James. “You did hear what he just called me, right?”

“I think it will get better,” James told Sam, ignoring Zemo.

Sam grabbed his hand in reassurance. “And it will get better for you too, Buck. There’s always going to be a place for you when you’re ready. Whether is on our missions team, on our backup team, or even in politics, who gives a shit. Point is, whenever you’re ready, and whatever you’ll do when you’re back, we’ll be there to support you.”

“Means a lot, Sam,” James said with a little smile. He glanced down at that soft hand on his before it pulled back.

Weird.

It had felt comforting, there was no denying that. But it hadn’t sent shivers up his spine like it had when Zemo had touched him in the kitchen that one time. He had just felt warmth. There weren't any... sparks.

James was still frowning at his own hand on the table when Sam spoke up.

“Well,” Sam said, stretching his arms. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to head back.”

“Already?” James looked up at him, in that split second noticing that Zemo had been scrutinizing him before he also quickly looked at Sam. Had Zemo noticed him zoning out?

“Duty calls,” Sam muttered.

“Yeah, of course.”

They were back in front of the craft before James knew it. It had felt like Sam had only been there for a few seconds and now it was already over.

“See you next week, Buck,” Sam gave him a tight hug.

This time, James focused on the feeling of Sam's arms around him. How different it felt.

But he was pulled from his thoughts when Sam’s mouth closed to his ears as he whispered, “I wouldn’t fault you if you killed him, you know.” Then Sam pulled back. He broadened his smile as he tapped his shoulder. “Was lovely seeing you.” He turned to Zemo and pointed at him. “Not so much you.”

Zemo simply shrugged, hands clasped in front of him, all diplomatic – to really rub in that he could maintain his calm.

“Are you going to bring Sarah next time?” James asked.

That made Sam laugh out loud. “Nice try, Buck, but I’m not letting her within 10 miles of that criminal.”

“If he’s a criminal, then I don’t even know what I am, Sam.”

“Bucky, you… you know what I meant. But no, I’m not bringing Sarah here. Least of all so you can flirt with her. You’ll have to see us yourself, once you’re out of here. Which is going to be soon. But maybe I can bring other company at some point. We’ll see.”

If “at some point” meant once he trusted Zemo, James wagered he actually meant “never”.

“You take care, alright?” He patted his shoulder again before heading off. “And again, don’t let him fuck with your mind.”

James waved him off as he strolled into craft. Again, he waited for the sound of the propulsion to dim before heading back in, Zemo on his tail.

“Sorry about that,” he found himself saying as the baron closed the door behind them.

“What are you sorry about?”

James turned to him apologetically. “He’s just… stubborn.”

Zemo tilted his head. “Like you.”

“Doesn’t trust people that have hurt him and his friends,” James continued.

“Like you.”

James sighed.

“I don’t blame him,” Zemo told him. “If I were him, I would have killed me a long time ago.”

“Always so dramatic.” James moved across the room and crashed onto the couch. Zemo only slowly followed him before sitting down on the other end. James hesitated as he gazed at the baron, those dark eyes looking back at him.

An impulsive thought rushed through him to get closer, to have Zemo wrap his arms around him, to feel the warmth of his body. To see how that felt.

James didn’t know what had prompted the thought. He felt empty now that Sam was gone and desperately wanted to fill that void. He remembered the comfort of Sam’s arms wrapped around him. Would it feel that way if Zemo-

Fuck, he had to get these crazy thoughts out of his damned head. Else he was going to wind up going down the road he had during that shower, after their fight. The way he had imagined the baron touching him-

“Can I get you something nice to drink from downstairs?” Zemo asked, bursting his bubble.

“You said drinking wasn’t good for me,” James mumbled. He only realized how his words had sounded once he’d said them – like he was following Zemo’s orders. Thankfully, Zemo spoke up before he could spiral on those thoughts.

“I’m talking about real wine.”

“That doesn’t affect me.”

“It’s not about getting drunk, James, it’s about enjoying the luxuries life has to offer.”

James grumbled, but then he nodded anyway. “Sure.”

Bucky watched in interest as the baron strolled towards the stairs, heard him make to the basement. Heard the bottles being taken from the rack. Could even hear Zemo hum in appreciation as he read the labels before making his decision.

Zemo reappeared with a vintage bottle, passing by the kitchen to grab two wine glasses – thankfully from a cabinet where James hadn’t stashed a gun – and came back to sit down, this time not at the very end of the couch, but a bit closer.

James gulped, trying to push his impulsive thoughts from earlier aside. Instead, he observed the baron as he set everything on the coffee table and slowly filled the glasses with the red wine. He handed one to James.

Before Bucky could retract his hand, Zemo toasted him. “To life.”

“Sure, whatever,” James mumbled before downing half the glass.

“James!” Zemo gasped. “You’re meant to enjoy it!”

James cleared his throat as he set the glass back down on the table and refilled it. “Sorry. Old habits die hard.”

Zemo tutted under his breath. James watched him take his time, smelling the wine before taking just the smallest of sips, really tasting it. Bucky found himself staring at the way those lips moved, the tongue that dashed across them. He found himself wetting his own lips.

“I’ll try again,” James said, eyes still spellbound by that mouth. This time, he really took his time, staring at the baron as he sipped the wine slowly, taking his time. All while the baron stared back at him.

***

By the time they’d made it though half of the bottle, Zemo looked much more relaxed, his cheeks slightly pink as he lounged back on the sofa. So much for it not being about getting drunk.

They'd been talking about nothing and everything for the good part of an hour, and Zemo’s intoxication had to be rubbing off on him, making him impulsive, because he asked Zemo something then that he hadn't at all planned to ask him at all.

“Do you want to hear about the therapy?” James mumbled.

Interestingly enough, James found that he didn’t regret asking the question.

Zemo turned to him and nodded slowly. “If you wish to speak of it.”

James got up and moved to the bookshelf, pulling out a book. He opened it, revealing two pieces of paper folded up inside of it. He discarded the book and passed the papers to Zemo. “My therapy rules.”

Zemo set his glass aside to focus. He scanned through the first printed lines of the first page as James nervously traced the couch fabric. “These ones are from…” He glanced up.

James nodded. “The first paper has the rules from before Madripoor, yeah.” He downed more of his glass.

“Don’t do anything illegal,” Zemo muttered under his breath with a low chuckle. “Amusing.”

“Yeah well, that was one of the rules.”

“Don’t hurt anyone.” Zemo hummed before glancing at him with a scrutinizing look. “How is hurt defined here? Is it purely alluding to physical harm, or…?”

James returned his gaze. “Well I... assume she meant physically.”

“Which would indeed suit her needs, since she hurt you emotionally.”

James gulped. Not even Sam had picked up on that. “No, I mean… I saw through her bullshit. I’m fine.”

“You’re lying, James.”

James gave him a half-smile.

“And what of hurting yourself?”

James looked away quickly at that. All those fucking insinuations of the rules... rules that he hadn’t thought twice about. And now here Zemo was, taking apart those three seemingly simple lines. Making it clear that there was more to those words than James had assumed. Truth be told, he hadn’t really given them much thought. He’d just accepted them as they were. Not like he had any say.

But still, this fucking bothered him.

“Now that you mention it,” he started, “she never like… really explained the rules. Which kinda sucked, because it turned out I had spent months doing the whole ‘amend’ thing wrong too. Which I mean, I kinda knew I wasn’t supposed to be doing it that way, but… doesn’t change the fact that she never explained any of it.”

“These rules sound draining,” Zemo confessed.

“Yeah. They were.”

“No wonder you were hurting.”

James glared at him.

“I could see it in your eyes in Berlin. You were miserable.”

“Thanks for the sharing that helpful observation, baron.”

Zemo gave him a coy smile. “Do you remember the way I was with you, in Madripoor? How I tried to push your buttons?" He raised the paper. "This was why. I wanted to help in my own way.”

“By making me angry?”

“By making you feel alive.”

James stayed very still before slowly reaching for his glass again, refusing to meet the baron's piercing gaze.

“I know how it feels, James,” he continued as James slowly gulped down the wine. James found himself wishing wine did have an effect on him. “I saw myself reflected in those eyes. That is why I am here now.”

“Because you were as miserable as I was?”

Zemo smiled at that. “And I believe I can give you what you so desperately crave.”

James almost choked on his wine. Thankfully, he swallowed just in time. “And what’s that?” he croaked.

Zemo’s eyes glittered as he smirked. “Someone who sees the real you.”

Chapter Text

Zemo

It was relaxing, being in good company, and feeling safe in that company. Zemo didn’t really need to worry about anything. He could just… drink and take it easy. But perhaps he was taking it a bit too easy.

“I saw myself reflected in those eyes,” he told James, his tongue loosened by the alcohol. “That is why I am here now.”

“Because you were as miserable as I was?”

“And because I believe I can give you what you so desperately crave.”

Surely he hadn’t hallucinated the way James did a double take at his words, almost choking on his wine? Zemo couldn't help his smirk. Effect achieved.

“And what’s that?” James croaked.

“Someone who sees the real you,” he said softly. Then he leaned forward and refilled his glass. The drink had slowly been making its way through his system. Usually he drank just enough to take the edge off, but they'd been talking for hours and Zemo had automatically been refilling one glass after the next, James still on his first.

As usual, he took his time sipping the wine. He was fully aware of the way James was staring at him. He didn’t know what the stare meant, and he didn’t want to know either. Instead, he turned his attention back to the paper in front of him.

“Rule number three,” Zemo mumbled, once he’d taken a deep breath. “You are no longer the Winter Soldier, you are James Buchanan Barnes.” Zemo shook his head and threw the papers on the table, placing his glass aside. “Bullshit.”

“Zemo,” James warned.

Zemo could hear the hissing of vibranium as Bucky's hand turned to a fist. Was James going to choke him again? I hope he does, Zemo found himself thinking.

“I think you’ve had enough of that wine. You’re being an asshole.”

“James,” Zemo groaned, leaning back, half laying on the couch. He tipped his head to the ceiling to let out a long exhale. “Why do you always assume the worst? I am not implying you are the Winter Soldier.”

Hmm, the Winter Soldier, Zemo mused as his eyes fluttered shut. If only that metal hand could grab him, suffocate him until he saw stars—

A hand smacked his arm, jerking him awake. He must have drifted off. “What?”

“You gonna elaborate?”

Zemo grunted, readjusting himself, rubbing his arm. “No need for such violence.”

Do it again, he prayed.

James glared at him. “The rule isn't bullshit. It's the truth. I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore.”

“But that’s not true.”

That did it. The cool metal hand was tight around his throat, James suddenly up and now leaning so close Zemo could feel his heat. A gurgling sound escaped him. “Stop playing games and just say what you want to say.”

Zemo smiled at him, eyes glistening in the dim light of the evening. “It’s impossible for you to no longer be the Winter Soldier, James, because you never were him to begin with. You, James, Buchanan, Barnes.” Oh how that beautiful name rolled off his tongue… “You were never the Winter Soldier. By definition.” His eyes lowered to stare at those lips. “Happy?”

“You’re even worse when you’re drunk,” James snarled as he yanked his head away and crashed down next to him, hand running through his hair. Zemo stared at him with big eyes. Did James not realize he’d just sat down right next to him, instead of the other end of the sofa?

Zemo looked down at their laps. Their thighs were touching. He was pretty sure he wasn’t hallucinating that. He gulped, looking away, trying to breathe in this suffocating air.

He shouldn’t have drunk. Shouldn’t have gotten so carried away by Bucky's stories. Fuck.

“You okay?” James suddenly asked, his breath fanning his face. So close…

“Yes,” Zemo mumbled, unable to turn to him. For fuck’s sake, they were inches apart. The world felt like it was crushing him. He desperately wanted to pull at his collar, but that move was a dead giveaway that he was uncomfortable. Or hot. Or turned on.

“Did I hurt you?” This time, the question was hesitant.

“No,” Zemo muttered. He leaned forward to grab his glass again, to give at least one hand something to do.

He didn’t know what was worse: James moving away, or James moving closer. Or maybe the most frustrating possibility was James staying as he was. So close, yet so far away.

He brought the glass to his lips, downing the bittersweet wine eagerly.

“Alright,” came the low voice from right next to him. The glass was snatched from his hand before he could completely finish it.

“Hey!”

James swam in his vision as he smacked the glass on the table. “Enough. I’m not going to let you embarrass yourself the same way I embarrassed myself on that first call.”

Zemo made a high pitched sound he wasn’t sure how to qualify, quickly covering it by clearing his throat. James was reminding him of the calls, and the calls, well… those reminded him of that one call, James falling asleep and, oh, those sounds—

“Fuck you’re completely out of it, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine,” Zemo waved him away. “And if it’s any consolation, you didn’t… embarrass yourself. I never blamed you for what you… thought you had to do to forget those nightmares.”

Odd. Zemo felt something like déjà vu. Had he said those words before? Hell, he couldn’t remember. His past was all a blur. A nice blur. Though even if forgetting was nice, he hadn’t actually been drinking to forget. His aim had simply been to stop his heart from racing. To help him relax, now that they were both alone again. Only he wasn’t relaxed at all anymore.

Not to mention choosing to drink had been a risk. He knew it was dangerous. Who knew what impulsive things he’d do or say. Or feel. Or think. But at least the wine had been of excellent quality. Whoever had stocked the wine cellar had great taste.

A hand suddenly cupped his cheek and turned his face to meet James' gaze. Zemo inhaled sharply, eyes darting to that mouth before forcing them up before forcing his gaze away. He couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Your throat looks okay,” James said as he checked it. “But I shouldn’t have done that.”

Zemo felt lightheaded. “I don’t mind it.”

“Yeah, of course you don’t.” James smirked. Zemo couldn’t help himself. His eyes darted to those curled lips again. He licked his own as he stared at them.

Go on, do it, that suicidal part of him urged. See what happens, you absolute fool.

“James—”

“You sure the Raft wasn’t that bad? It actually does seem like you’re trying to forget it.”

Zemo gulped, wanting to melt into the couch, or maybe into Bucky’s touch. He hated James for caring about him, and even more for seeing past his facade.

“T's okay,” Zemo mumbled quietly. He didn’t know if it was him or gravity that was tilting him closer. Closer and closer until he tilted too far.

He would have flopped down against James if his hand hadn't instinctively shot up to press against that hard chest and hold himself steady. Zemo held his breath as he felt that galloping heart beat under warm skin. The touch woke something in him, and he swore he became completely sober for a split second. His eyes went wide.

What the fuck am I doing?

“I think you should lay down,” James started, slowly taking Zemo's wrist and pulling his hand away. “Your pupils are so blown you look high. I always forget how easily others get drunk.” James stared at him for a moment before nodding and getting up. Zemo's body followed his movement, swaying as he sat there, the warmth of his body still lingering. He watched in a daze as James propped up his pillow before grabbing a blanket.

“I’m not sleeping in my clothes,” Zemo complained.

James glared at him as he grabbed the bottle and the two glasses. “Well I’m not helping you undress.”

With that, James left to go to the kitchen. Zemo grumbled, beginning to pull his shirt over his head. They haven’t even had a proper dinner! But maybe James wasn’t wrong. Maybe some shut eye…

James

Fuck. That was so fucking close. He quickly made to the kitchen, placing the glasses in the sink and retrieving a bowl from the cupboard. When he'd pulled Zemo's head to him to check his throat, he hadn't expected… fuck, he could tell the baron was completely out of it, but he'd felt so drunk in that moment too, like gravity was pulling him in.

It would have only taken a few inches and then, who knows what would have happened. But James knew he couldn’t take the risk. Especially not with Zemo wasted like that. Well, not ever. Because Bucky was delusional and stupid and way too easily flustered. This man was here to help him with the nightmares. Nothing more, nothing less. He hated super soldiers on a fundamental level. Sure, he’d warmed up to him, and James hoped that was genuine, but still… he was in over his head.

“I can’t have you puking all over this nice parquet floor,” James said as he strolled back to the living room, metal bowl in hand. “Can’t believe how much I sound like you right now—”

James came up to the couch, shaking his head with a small smile at the sight. The baron was knocked out again, just like that first day. His face was mushed against the pillow, an arm uncomfortably outstretched over the edge of the sofa. He was in a tank top, his shirt on the floor. “So much for not embarrassing yourself,” James mumbled as he knelt down and placed the bowl on the ground in front of him, picking up the shirt. He hesitated for a second. He glanced at Zemo. The baron looked fast asleep.

Keeping his eyes on Zemo, James gently lifted the fabric to his face. He inhaled deeply, letting his eyes close as he lost himself in that soothing smell. A mischievous part of him felt tempted to steal the shirt. But there was no way the baron wouldn't notice. Instead, James folded the shirt nicely and placed it on the coffee table. That was when the baron mumbled something indecipherable, making Bucky glance at him. But his eyes were still closed, his mouth drooling just the tiniest bit.

James pulled the blanket over him and started getting up.

“Jms…” the baron mumbled. James froze, watching him, the way his fingers twitched. Almost like they were reaching out to him. “Jms…”

James swallowed hard, watching the baron like this. Slowly, he lifted his own hand, hovering it over Zemos fingers. He hovered over his warmth, inches from his skin. He stayed there for a moment before shaking his head and cupping his wrist, helping the baron’s hand back onto the sofa. “Get some sleep.”

The baron groaned in response, head lolling further to the side. A strand of hair fell on his face. James didn’t really think about it when he tucked the hair away.

When Zemo didn’t wake from Bucky’s touch, James sighed in disappointment. Some small part of him had hoped the baron would open those dark eyes. James wondered what would have happened if he had.

Zemo

It was funny, the way reality and dreams sometimes merged into one another so easily. In the back of his mind, he knew he was laying on the couch. As a matter of fact, so was he in this dream. But he knew it was a dream, because of the way James was smiling at him, long hair framing his face.

“James?”

Bucky leaned down on top of him, one knee on his pelvis for leverage. He was so fucking heavy. Zemo tried not to let it show, that he was suffocating under the weight of what was once the Winter Soldier. But curiously enough, he wasn’t scared. It wasn’t even… bad. Zemo actually liked this. His weight felt comforting, like a weighted blanket. Like if James pressed down hard enough, Zemo might forget who he was.

James dipped his head closer, lips just inches from his own. Zemo tilted his own head up like an automatism. He could feel the man’s breath fan his face.

Now his breathing grew faster and shallower, the weight crushing him further, sending him into an ecstatic frenzy as he squirmed underneath him, wordlessly begging.

And then those lips were on his, a warm but insistent tongue diving into his mouth. Zemo could only take it, and take it he did, opening his mouth further, both hands frantically grasping at Bucky's shirt, pulling him closer, tugging and tugging like there was no tomorrow in sight.

The kisses were sloppy and lewd and disgusting and beautiful. And Zemo couldn’t get enough. And then a leg pressed down between his and he yelped into that warm mouth, cry muffled by the kisses.

And then, as easily as the dream had settled, he woke, blinking to a dark living room.

Zemo wiped his mouth as he sat up, still groggy from the drink and still… Fuck. So fucking turned on.

He cursed at his subconscious as he sat up, foot knocking against a metal bowl.

He had no idea what he’d been thinking, drinking like that.

He strolled to the bathroom slowly, flinching when he switched on the light. He washed himself, properly changing into something for the night, though seeing the time, it was already technically morning. He bent down and clicked off his monitor, placing it next to the sink.

He flicked off the light as he walked back out, the living room plunged in darkness once more. That was he noticed the slight illumination outside. He stepped closer to the glass doors. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he realized it was a dim light coming from the window upstairs.

James was awake.

Zemo turned around, gazing at the dark couch. Then he made up his mind.

Cautiously, he made towards the stairs. He took his time on each step, making sure not a creak could be heard.

He paused when he could see the light coming from under the door.

There he stood, halfway up the stairs, like a boat held back by its anchor, swaying this way and back, but not moving forward or backward.

Before he took another step, the light of the room turned off.

With a disappointed sigh, Zemo carefully made his way back down the stairs.

---

He was in the middle of serving himself a second cup of tea when he heard James making his way down the next morning.

"Tea?" he asked, glancing at the man. Bucky looked dead tired, hair messy, bathrobe only half on, showing his tank top.

Zemo would have felt flustered if James didn't look... this bad. Now Zemo was just worried.

Bucky groaned in response to his offer as he fell onto a chair, leaning on the counter, hiding his face from the light.

“If I didn't know any better, I would have guessed you were the one with the hangover."

James rubbed his face with his hands. “I feel like shit.”

Zemo passed him one of the white mugs anyway. "Do you want me to make you something?"

“Not hungry.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Zemo dared.

Instead of snapping at him, James just shrugged, cupping the mug before sipping the steaming drink. “Mmm,” he pondered, looking down at the tea. “This is actually good.” He inhaled as he looked up and met his gaze. “Are you good? You went out like a light last night.”

Deflecting, as usual. Zemo wasn’t surprised.

“I'm okay. And I'm sorry. Last night,” he shook his head, “it was embarrassing.”

“It wasn't,” James chuckled. “It was, um…” he stretched his hands around the mug, “kinda endearing I guess?”

That finally made Zemo blush. He had to pull himself together. “But what you said… it's not… I didn't drink to forget,” he quickly explained.

“Why then?” James smiled before impersonating him. “The taste?”

Zemo shrugged with a smile. “You cannot deny that it was quite good.”

“Yeah, it was.”

This time, Zemo decided to deflect. “You were awake, during the night.”

James slowly nodded, running a finger along the ceramic. “I woke up from a nightm— wait.” He glared up at the baron. “How do you know about that?”

“I saw the light from your room. James, you know you can always come down to speak with me, if you wake up in the night. It is what I am here for.”

“I gathered you were kinda out of it.”

“Yes, I really shouldn't have had that much. It was irresponsible.”

“I get it, you got carried away. So did I. I let you keep talking and drinking and then it was suddenly so late. I don't know where that time went.”

Zemo tried to keep the warmth in his chest from spreading. He'd felt the same way. “James, please, do not hold back on my account. Come down and wake me up. I will never complain. I never complained on our calls, did I?”

“Yeah, but you were stuck in a boring cell. Kind of a different scenario.”

Zemo shrugged. “Wake me. Or give me a shout, and I can come up to you. If that is okay with you.”

James nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure. Next time, maybe. Thanks.”

“It's what I'm here for, James.”

James bit the inside of his lip as he glanced back up at him. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Let’s talk.”

Well, Zemo certainly hadn’t expected that.

James held his mug tighter. “You wanna take a walk?”

The ankle monitor was forgotten back in the house as they strolled out over the field and into the forest. For the late summer morning, it was quite cool, despite the sun showing behind the moving clouds.

It felt odd, being able to walk around freely. They'd crossed the red line on the lawn without even glancing down, and now here they were, strolling down a path in the old forest, the canopy of leaves glistening above them. They walked past thickets and boulders covered in moss. Zemo breathed in the woody scent, still getting used to being above sea water. He didn’t know why that uneasy feeling of being under the surface still stuck with him. It still felt like he was on unsteady ground sometimes.

“Where are we going?” he asked to keep his mind off his unease.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you out here,” James said as he led the way, ducking under a stray branch.

“A pity,” Zemo sighed.

He couldn't help flashing a little smirk when James gave him an exasperated look.

“I wanted to show you something,” he explained.

Zemo didn't know what to expect. Nor was he sure how James was feeling. He looked relaxed - as relaxed as James could look. Even if he had his hands in tight fists in his pockets, Zemo could tell by his gait that he wasn't tense.

Zemo, on the other hand, still felt queasy. He didn't know why. The world around them was so endless, like a great void crashing down on them, giving him vertigo.

“You okay?” James suddenly asked, glancing over at him.

“Still not used to the openness,” Zemo replied, hoping it was enough. It feels as though it is going to eat me alive.

“It's weird, right?” James turned to the open forest, trees as far as the eyes could see, the ground uneven, but not uneven enough to be called hills. “Like you're looking down a pit of endlessness.” He marched on. “Being on my own, it made me feel like I was the last person alive. Like everyone else was gone.”

“That sounds horrifying.”

“It was.”

Zemo noted Bucky’s use of the past tense. “I felt like that too, sometimes, after long hours of solitude. Especially during those long five years. It must have been worse for you here.”

“Worse than prison? Please.”

“At least I had the company of guards and, occasionally, other convicts.”

James groaned. “I don't think I would have survived the Raft.”

“And you thought you would survive this torture?”

“I don't know,” James confessed, shrugging.

Zemo swallowed, taking a deep breath. He hadn’t expected such brutal and vulnerable honesty from him.

“Here we are,” James said before he could say anything.

The grove opened to a bank of a small pond, sunlight reflecting on its shimmering surface. James made his way downwards, settling down on the large exposed root of a big tree. His expression didn’t give away his thoughts as he stared out onto the water. But he looked older. Well, maybe that was just him frowning. The water was surprisingly peaceful. While it inevitably reminded Zemo of the Raft, there was something soothing about it too. These weren’t the raging waves of the ocean, but the softest ripples. Like the river, next to the Sokovian memorial.

“It’s nice and quiet here,” James mused. “I come out here to think, sometimes, when the house starts feeling…”

“Suffocating?”

James glanced up at Zemo. “Something like that. The house is a nice place, but… it reminds me of the nightmares, because that’s where I have them, you know?” He rubbed his metal palm, frowning as he looked around. “And the nightmares are still as bad as the first day, even after months of being here.”

Zemo slowly sat down on the sand, the water almost reaching his boots but never quite. “What happened last night?”

“It was a memory. But one of those where I'm not sure if all of it had really happened. Or if I made some of it up.” James fumbled around with his fingers, finding a small stone and throwing it out onto the water. “Felt fucking real, though. Like I was back.”

“Back where?”

James shrugged. “Some warehouse. Couldn't tell you what mission it was. They all blur together, you know? But still somehow they all feel unique. And add up to be so many. And their faces…” He hesitated before meeting the baron's gaze. “Right before I pull the trigger, somehow my subconsciousness manages to remember every single victim in so much detail… and they were real. Real people I killed."

“That the Winter Soldier killed,” Zemo corrected.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, but it wasn't you.”

“And I'm still stuck with the nightmares. Great trade off.”

“I'm sorry, James.”

James dug around in the sand. “Whatever.”

“Is that why you didn't do it?” Zemo asked quietly. James slowly turned to face him, pausing.

They both knew what he was talking about: the memorial.

He stared at him for a moment. “You would have haunted me for the rest of my life.”

Zemo stared back at him. “A good use of my afterlife.”

James gave him a little smile.

They sat there for a while, lounging in the sunlight, the rustling of the trees and the chirping of the birds growing louder as they listened. The banks of the pond seemed to come alive, dragonflies zooming by, the water rippling from small fish breaking the surface. A bird on a branch was waiting for the moment to strike, seemingly unaware of the two humans sitting by the water in silence.

After a while, James got up. Zemo followed him, and they headed back.

“We didn't get to the new therapy rules last night,” Zemo started then.

James chuckled up at the sky. “Oh trust me, you don't want to know. I just know you're going to be pissed.”

“James.”

Bucky looked down at the ground, fists tight in his pocket. Was it him, or did he look shy?

“James.”

“I mean you kinda already figured some of them out,” he said, looking anywhere but his direction. “No finding out about the outside world, so I wouldn't be tempted to join any fights. Cause that's rule one: no fighting, no missions.”

“That's why you don't have a television, or radio.”

James nodded.

Well, Zemo had to give it to James. He was right. Zemo was pissed off at present. In Berlin, and even at the Raft he had been granted a radio. This was perhaps maybe even worse than the Raft. Only it had been wrapped in beautiful gift paper and sold as liberation rather than the cage that it was.

“And rule number three?”

“Rule three is that I should call Raynor about reintegrating once I’m sure I’m ready. That's when I'd go back.”

Zemo slowed to a stop. “So their plan was to isolate you, taking away everything you knew, the only solid rock you had, your comfort zone, and to just leave you to rot out here. And not just that, but they put the responsibility of your own psychic evaluation on... you.”

“It's about having more autonomy, making my own choices," James explained with a sigh.

“Is it? Did you choose to be here?”

James ignored him, continuing on. “Raynor gave me homework too. Told me to journal. To meditate. And… other stuff.”

Zemo huffed. “I am guessing inviting over a former enemy wasn't on her list of recommendations.”

James glanced at him. “Which is why it surprised me as much as it did you that they said yes.”

Zemo came to a halt again, James turning to him with a frown. He probably already know Zemo was going to say something he wouldn't like. “James… Do I need to say it out loud?”

“What?”

“She should have said no,” Zemo said. James just stared at him, even as Zemo stepped closer. “Put yourself in her shoes, James. You have a war veteran, who has spent most of his life tortured and brainwashed.” James flinched at that, looking away. But Zemo didn't back down. “And now, after barely any progress, that patient wants to bring one of the most notorious masterminds—”

“Don't get ahead of yourself,” James snapped, glaring at him. He was tensing up, but Zemo couldn’t stop himself from continuing.

“Fine, this veteran wants to let an unreliable criminal who once took advantage of his vulnerable state into his unsupervised home.”

“Sam agreed to check up on us.”

“Sam is a safety net made out of thin air and you know it.”

James grabbed the front of Zemo’s shirt. “Don't talk about Sam like that.”

“I don't mean Sam,” Zemo grunted, unafraid. “I mean the agreement of his supposed supervision. Once a week? What is keeping either of us from mutual destruction any other day? What, do they think I am only a threat on Sundays?”

James growled. “They know I'm a super soldier. They know I can take care of myself. Sam is just a courtesy.”

“If they really thought that,” Zemo started, slowly, “then you wouldn't be here in the first place, would you?”

James started marching Zemo back, vibranium hand turning to a fist. “You got anything helpful to say, Zemo? Or are you just here to make me feel even more miserable?”

Zemo’s back hit a tree, his body squeezed between the hard trunk and Bucky. “I’m being honest with you.”

“You think you’re so clever, that you know what’s best for me,” James snarled, getting all up in Zemo’s personal space. “In the end you’re no better than Raynor and everyone else who’s tried to fix me and failed. You’re all the same.” James gave one last hard push before turning away.

Zemo massaged his chest as he took deep breaths.

“Whatever. I’m heading back,” James snarled. He marched up the path, not waiting up for the baron.

Chapter Text

James

James sat quietly on the couch, even if his body was anything but restful. His heart was racing, he couldn’t seem to find a comfortable sitting position, and his legs wouldn’t stop moving, endlessly agitated. It had been a good half hour now since he’d gotten back from the forest, and there was still no sign of the baron.

He looked back up at the clock, then outside. Thick clouds were gathering now. It was probably going to rain soon.

Fuck.

He ran his hand through his long hair and exhaled through his mouth.

Where was that idiot?

The room felt so silent and daunting without his presence. Weird how quickly Zemo had changed the way James saw this place. The way he felt in it. The way they fit in it. The house was never too full with the baron. And yet now, it was too empty, even if James had been here on his own for months, and Zemo had only joined him for weeks.

James covered his face with his hands, leaning on his knees. He was an idiot. He should have waited up for Zemo. Should have grabbed him by that fur coat of his and dragged him back. Instead, he’d just marched off in anger. Misplaced anger, he knew that. He knew he'd said shit he shouldn't have. He'd been frustrated at the baron for being exactly who he always was: a calculating and determined troublemaker. And he knew Zemo was right about the therapy being dodgy, but shit, couldn't they have one moment of peace before going back into the trenches of reality? It always fucking ended with a fight. Always, always, always.

The door suddenly clicked open and James almost jumped out of his skin.

“What took you so long?” he snapped at the baron, who entered calmly, like he hadn't just been AWOL.

“I took a longer walk,” he simply explained, having the gall to look surprised by James’ reaction.

“I thought you’d left.” The confession escaped him before he could stop it. He gulped to keep the tears at bay. What was wrong with him?

Everyone always leaves you anyway—

“You seem upset.”

James forced his gaze away, clenching his jaw. “I'm not.”

“You are an awful liar, James. I have said that before.” Bucky looked over at him. He watched as Zemo casually pulled off his jacket, placing it away. “If I had known taking a detour would cause you this much distress, I would have followed you back directly.”

“Yeah, right.” James let out a long exhale. “Cause you just hate making me feel bad, don't you?”

“I wanted to give you space. And I am sorry about earlier.” James perked his head up automatically. Shit. He had to remind himself that he was still pissed at the baron. “All of this…” Zemo motioned at the room, “it affects you deeply. I see that now.”

“Yeah, no shit,” James muttered, though his tone was softer now. Despite the fact that he was still supposed to be pissed.

Zemo slowly sat down next to him, body tilted ever so slightly in James' direction. It made Bucky dizzy, made his throat go dry, made his breathing falter. “I have thought about it and… as you can imagine, I see all of this as a mission, as a mystery to be solved. I did not realize how much this… 'therapy' has been your anchor. Because if this mandated semi house arrest was the wrong move by your therapist, by the government, then the foundation breaks, and, in consequence, the whole structure falls apart, and you’re back to square one.”

James took a deep breath. Always hitting him right where it hurt. “Zemo…”

Zemo grabbed his arm and James tensed up, glaring at the contact before meeting the baron’s surprisingly soft gaze. “I do want to help. I have said it before and I will say it again. The prodding, it was… uncalled for, but…” Was James hallucinating, or was Zemo’s thumb stroking him? “We both know I’m right in questioning the therapy.”

“Zemo,” James warned again, though he didn’t push the hand away, the feeling somewhat overwhelming. Was the stroking automatic? Did Zemo realize he was doing it? Was it manipulation?

The movement stopped. James stared at him.

“You know something strange is going on,” Zemo said quietly. “And you know I am right in investigating it."

“Can't we just…” James glanced back at that soft hand, sighing. “Can’t we just pretend that things are the way they're supposed to be? That there isn’t some big conspiracy? At least… just for a little while?”

Zemo glanced between his eyes, slowly lowering his arm. James tried not to show his disappointment at the loss of touch. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” James hesitated. “And… I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean what I said earlier. You’re not actually like the others. At least, not… I mean… They…”

“I know, James. There’s no need to apologize.”

James stared at him for a moment before nodding. “Okay. But I mean it. You're not like Raynor.”

“Given what you've told me of her, and the rules, I hope you mean that as a compliment.”

“I do,” James easily let out with a little smile. It was only after it had slipped out that he’d realized what he’d just said. He tried to steady his breathing as his stomach fluttered. Somehow, after all the shit he’d been though, he’d fallen back to being the flirt he’d been back in the forties, even if had just been for a split second. He wondered why the hell that sort of ease hadn’t been there when he’d tried going on dates after Wakanda. He glanced at Zemo. The baron was still staring at him, with that look where he seemed to see right through the layers.

James quickly glanced away. He had to change the subject, and fast. “I'm starving.”

“Then I will make us something,” Zemo simply said.

It almost made James want to laugh, how eager the baron was to both please and antagonize him at the same time.

“Sam brought some seafood,” James told him. “He and his sister made some really good stuff with that.” James couldn’t help but smile at the fond memories. Of feeling like he was accepted, even though he knew he didn’t deserve any it. Nor had he fit in. But still, seeing that community of family and friends… it made him crave that sense of belonging so bad, even if he knew he would never have that. He didn’t have any real friends and much less a family.

“I am sure I can cook something up,” Zemo said, halting Bucky's train of thought.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to outdo them though. That shit was pretty good.”

Zemo grinned deviously. “Well, you know better than anyone that I never back down from a challenge.”

***

James had forgotten things could smell this good. He was even reluctant about opening the window when Zemo asked him to. He wanted the air to fill with steam as Zemo cooked away like a chef, all of the spices he could find lying around on the counters next to the stove. The very stove that was actually being used for once, covered in the biggest boiling pot James had found. The baron chopped a couple of onions with precision, added potatoes, eggs and thyme, chopped basil with an uncanny amount of attention to detail. James certainly wasn’t surprised at his approach. When Zemo had a mission, he saw it through.

Of course, Bucky had volunteered to pass him the herbs and cooking utensils. He couldn’t have the baron snooping around the kitchen cupboards and finding any of his hidden weapons.

But once Zemo had everything he needed, James just sat back and leaned on the counter to watch him work away. He could do that for hours. It felt almost therapeutic, sitting there, watching, listening to the sizzling and the soft rain outside. And he knew Zemo liked being watched too. It was probably inflating his ego, but who cared. In the end, James was going to get a home cooked meal, so he wasn’t complaining.

By the time Zemo was done, James’ mouth was already watering. He hadn’t felt this hungry in a while. He helped set the table before Zemo passed him a full steaming bowl. James couldn’t get over how good it smelled, let alone looked. The scent of the garlic butter sauce permeated the air, the dish an array of bright colors.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Zemo warned as he sat down across from him.

James hesitated as he grabbed the cutlery. “Thank you, for this.”

“My pleasure.”

James smiled as he shook his head. He remembered Zemo in Riga, the way he had served them tea, had given them Turkish delights. Acts of service seemed to be his thing.

Mindlessly, he lifted his fork to his mouth, the baron watching him intently.

He took a first bite. When the taste hit him, James moaned with closed eyes. The flavors quite literally melted on his tongue. This was exceptionally good. “Woah. This is…” He downed some more, speaking with his mouth half full. “Really good.”

He was about to grab another bite when a hand caught his wrist. “Take your time, James. Enjoy it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he said, even as he smirked. He jerked his hand from Zemo’s grasp. Going deliberately slowly, he dipped his fork into the bowl and every so steadily lifted it to his mouth, all while keeping eye contact with the baron.

He gave him a look before he closed his eyes again to focus on savoring.

This actual good food made him feel alive, sparking things inside of him he hadn’t felt in a while. There was truly nothing more depressing than living solely from take-out every day. This was something else. This was what living was like.

James opened his eyes again. He swore he’d seen the baron’s eyes glance up from his lips at the last second.

“Happy?” he asked the baron.

“Very.” Zemo smiled as he dug in.

Zemo

Zemo gazed at him, watched him close his eyes and take it slow, just as he’d asked James to.

The baron found his own eyes run down his cheeks and rest at those lips as James chewed, with that slight smirk, curling up the ends —

James opened up his eyes and Zemo quickly met his gaze. “Happy?”

“Very.”

It wasn’t the best Zemo had ever cooked, but it was acceptable. Not that James seemed to complain. It really did look like he was delighting in it. He kept smiling, telling him all about the horrible food he’d gotten delivered to this place so far.

“It’s not the same as in the city, you know? Or even in a town,” he said. “It’s so cut off here. I used to love going to the farmer’s market, to feel the food with my hands, you know what I mean?”

“I do.”

“So is this how you’re planning to help me?” James asked, eating and speaking at the same time. “By feeding me?”

“That’s the first step,” Zemo replied with a little smile. “I hope it is working.”

James nodded with a new sort of spirit Zemo hadn’t been privy to yet. “It is.”

“So? Better or worse than Sam and Sarah’s?”

James chuckled with a full mouth. “I have to give it to you. It is really good.”

Zemo stared at him unexpectedly. There was more, wasn’t there? “But?”

“But theirs was just a touch… I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Maybe it was the atmosphere, or the preparation time. Don’t take it personally. They have way more experience with seafood anyway.”

Zemo couldn’t believe it. “In my defense, I was working with what you had in your kitchen, which wasn’t much.”

“Ah, yeah, shit, sorry.” James cleared his throat, shaking his head. “Forgot to tell you about — If you want something to eat or books or whatever, things get delivered here automatically.” James pulled out his phone and opened an app. Then he pushed the phone across the table. “You can order anything you need. Or want.”

Zemo glanced from the phone to James, pausing as he tapped his mouth with a napkin. James was willingly passing him his phone? Unlocked?

Zemo scrutinized James. But he looked as laid back as it got. Zemo slowly took the phone. James truly wasn’t hiding anything at all, was he? Or maybe he was unaware of the fact that Zemo could check his search history. Or messages. Anything he wanted, really.

But surely he knew…

Not that Zemo saw any reason to do that. Instead, he focused on scrolling through the app, mouth starting to water again when he saw the extent of all he could order. James’ prison really wasn’t that bad after all. He even had access to high tech gadgets. Pros of being a former avengers-adjacent super hero, he supposed.

James

James watched in amusement as Zemo clicked one thing after the next.

“I will of course pay you back,” the baron mumbled.

“Oh, please,” James said. “It’s all being paid for anyway. Government property and all.”

“Ah,” Zemo paused, gazing at him for a moment, as if thinking, before getting back to it. “Well in that case...”

James couldn’t help his smile. He wasn’t surprised by the baron’s desire for extravagance. The one thing that did surprise him was his willingness to do all of this for him. He guessed Zemo was technically cooking for the both of them, given the Raft’s track record of served meals, but still.

And James remembered that Zemo had promised him this on the phone. He’d promised to cook these meals for him, when neither had thought it possible that one day they’d actually get the chance to do so. Zemo hadn’t lied to him. He’d kept a promise neither had even known he could keep.

He dug back in but paused midway through his serving. He suddenly remembered something else too: the way it had felt, giving Raynor his phone. The dread, the horror, the way he’d shielded himself preemptively of her tirade. How it had still stung when she had inevitably shamed him. But just now, when he’d pulled out his phone and passed it to Zemo, he hadn’t even thought twice about it. Hadn’t even considered the baron technically having full access to one of the only things that still was actually Bucky’s, here in this non-house-arrest house.

“There,” Zemo said suddenly as he pushed the phone back to him. “Take it back before I order everything. I should not get too carried away with it.”

“I don’t blame you.” James tucked the phone away. “I had my fun with ordering all sorts of stuff when I first got here. Got boring real quick though. It’s like…” He hesitated. “It’s this weird feeling, of being able to get anything I could ever want for, but…”

“But nothing being enough to fill that void inside.”

Fucking mind reader.

“You scare me sometimes, you know,” James said as he slowly continued eating.

“We are perhaps more alike than either of us initially thought,” Zemo said as he mirrored James and continued his meal.

“Thank you,” James found himself saying. “For dropping the whole therapy conspiracy thing, for now.”

“I don’t doubt that we will figure everything out in due course anyway,” Zemo said, midway though his serving. “The truth always comes out in the end.”

James took a deep breath. The baron wasn’t wrong. James believed it too. The only problem was that there were truths even he didn’t know how to express, or quantify. The feelings he had for the baron, the fear of losing him, how could he even begin to put that into words?

He didn’t want the baron to figure those things out, but he was right. It was going to come out into the open some day, if Zemo didn’t leave soon. But even just the idea of him returning to the Raft made all kinds of those feelings he couldn’t qualify bubble up. All he knew was that he didn’t want the baron to leave, now more than ever. The panic he’d felt, when the baron hadn’t followed him straight home? Now he knew for sure that he was a lost cause. He needed him. Or perhaps anyone. Just someone to stay with him. He couldn’t bear the thought of being alone again. It was going to be the death of him.

“Are you here, James?” Zemo asked, his hand resting suspiciously close to his own on the table. The living room went back into focus, the sound of the pounding rain returning as he came back to himself.

James blinked. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Zemo asked with that inquisitive look again, tilting his head.

James gulped. “What?” He let out a nervous chuckle. “No.”

“Oh James…”

Change the subject change the subject change the subject. “You think you’re up for another sparring session?”

“Only if you are.”

“I’m asking if you are. You know I’m always ready for a fight.” It’s the only thing I was made for, after all.

“James?”

“Hmm?”

“We don’t have to, if it’s not what you want.”

“I know.”

“We’ll do what you want, James.”

James clenched his jaw. “Sometimes I don’t even know what I want.” He tried not to blush. Sometimes he couldn’t explain the words leaving his mouth. He took another calming breath and met the baron’s gaze. “I mean I do know one thing.”

“And what’s that?” Zemo asked quietly, tilting his head again.

“I know that I don’t want to, like, actually hurt you. So you gotta be honest with me, like you said.”

Zemo shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about me, James.”

“If you get hurt, who’ll be my sparring partner?”

“Touché. Very well.” He sighed. “I did notice that I had a hard time falling back into form the other day. I may need some more time to train.”

“Okay,” James said, before adding, “You know I heard you when you said that about me in Madripoor.”

Was Zemo blushing? “I only said it to annoy Sam,” he said, breathless.

“Sure you did,” James said as he got up. “Let’s train, then.”

***

Zemo

Zemo couldn’t help but think back to their first fight in the garden, even as they regrouped in the basement with their gray workout clothes, rain still coming down hard outside.

“Never thought I’d be training with you of all people.” James said as he prepared the punch bag. “If my past self saw me now, he’d probably punch me.”

“No need to worry.” Zemo wrapped his knuckles. “I’m sure you would easily dodge yourself.”

James chuckled. “Not so sure about that.”

“Besides, you aren’t technically training with me,” Zemo said as he started warming up. “Unless you count holding the punching bag as exercise.”

“Touché,” James said. Indeed, holding the punching bag was all he did while Zemo practiced his lunges, wrapped hands hitting the bag hard.

“Looking strong, baron,” James commented, barely affected by the impacts. Zemo couldn't believe he was comparing him to Walker.

“You have a big mouth on you,” Zemo huffed, going at it harder and faster. His hair was already wet from the sweat, having gone at it for a while now. After some time, he leaned against the bag to take a breather.

“You need a break?” James asked.

Zemo waved him away, getting into fighting stance again.

“D’you work out at the Raft?” James asked calmly, leaning lazily against the bag as Zemo hit it in quick succession.

“Not as much as I would have liked.” Hit. “Push ups in the cell got awfully monotone.” Hit hit.

“I’m sure they did.” Kick. “I do kind of miss it though, getting exhausted during workouts.”

“Liar.” Zemo brought his leg around, but instead of going for the bag, he went for the foot James was leaning on. He quickly grabbed a hold of Bucky’s arm and pulled him down. But James reacted fast, throwing Zemo on the floor instead with a loud thump. The baron wheezed, face red and clothes soaked as he simply laid there, vibranium hand on his chest, holding him down. Zemo sighed in defeat. “Worth a try.”

“You did catch me by surprise,” James said as he finally grabbed Zemo’s hand and pulled him up, “if that’s any consolation.”

Zemo fell upwards, almost knocking into Bucky’s chest. But he quickly recovered, taking a step back.

“It is,” Zemo said as he dusted himself off, trying not to let the rush of emotion of their proximity get to him.

“Again?”

Zemo nodded. “Again.”

Chapter Text

James

James woke early, the light outside only faint with the sun still well below the horizon. After getting changed into something comfy, he quietly strolled downstairs. The baron was still asleep, snoring on the couch, his arm sprawled out again. The blanket had fallen off him and onto the floor in front of the coffee table.

Without really thinking about it, James bent down to pull it over the baron again, the movement almost automatic. Zemo didn’t wake up, but instinctively readjusted himself, turning from his side onto his back. He let out a soft groan. James couldn't help but smile down at him. The baron looked so at peace like this.

But as much as James wanted to stay right there, watching him, he did want to be the one getting breakfast ready for once. He set the table before turning to check the front porch. As expected, Zemo’s order had arrived. James crouched down to look into the crate, curiosity getting the best of him as he examined what Zemo had bought. He took out one package after the next. Tagliatelle, Barbine, Bigoli. Three different types of rice. One basket filled with fresh vegetables, another filled with different fruit, another with frozen meat. Sauces and condiments and spices and —

“I did get a bit carried away,” a soft voice spoke up from behind him. James turned to see Zemo leaning against the door frame, hair completely disheveled. He was wearing his bathrobe again, blanket wrapped on top of that.

James held up a bag of beetroot. “Beets?”

“That’s for the Borscht,” Zemo explained. “I did say I would cook for you, James.”

“You really meant it,” James looked back at all the food. “Everything you said on that call.”

Zemo made a little grunt sound.

James picked up the crate and wandered back inside. Zemo stepped aside to let him by, but he still ended up getting a good whiff of Zemo as he passed him. The fucking guy smelled good even after just waking up.

“I’ll sort it all out,” James said as he tried to focus on something other than the split second he'd had in Zemo's proximity. And his lingering smell.

“James —”

“Let me do this at least?” James asked with a smirk.

Zemo put up his hands in surrender. “May I make coffee, at least?”

James only just held back from rolling his eyes. “Knock yourself out.”

It felt good, having something to do, even if it was as small as sorting out all the shit Zemo had ordered. It was nice, like the way it had felt organizing the garage. Like de-cluttering his own mind. Things felt less… chaotic.

When James was done, Zemo passed him a hot mug. “Thanks.”

“Always my pleasure, James.”

They fell into an easy rhythm after that. They had an easy breakfast, and a second round of coffee; Zemo washed the dishes and he dried them and put them away; James helped Zemo get back into shape with another round of training, this time outside; and Zemo cooked up some delicacy for lunch that James had never heard of before. All he knew was that it was delicious, better than even the meal from the previous day. He knew he didn’t deserve as much, especially not from Zemo of all people, but he couldn’t help but let himself enjoy it.

“Checkmate,” Zemo smirked as he moved his queen.

“Fucking hell,” James cursed. “Every goddamn time.”

“Again?”

James glanced up at the clock. It was almost midnight. He had no idea were the time had flown. “Should head to bed. Aren’t you supposed to be the one checking that I get my sleep?” he asked cheekily as he slowly placed the pawns away.

“Seems I got carried away.”

“And you weren't even drinking.”

Zemo chuckled at that, helping him put the chess away.

“I realized I never asked, but, is the couch okay? It’s not too uncomfortable, is it?”

“It’s fine, James. More than fine.”

“But if you ever want to like,” James ran his hand through his hair, “switch for a few nights, I wouldn’t mind.”

He gulped down the heat that was threatening to rise to his cheeks. He wasn’t sure if the proposal was going too far. He could order a bed too, but again, he had no idea if it was too much. How long was Zemo going to stay anyway? James already felt miles better than before the baron had arrived – which was probably a by-product of the good food – but for once, he didn’t want to get better. At least not at this rate. Because if he really got, like, actually better, it meant Zemo’s stay had run its course.

“Thank you for the offer, James,” Zemo said, bringing James out of his train of thoughts. “The sofa is fine for now.”

For now.

“Okay.” He slowly stood. “Well, um, good night, then.”

“Good night, James.”

James nodded before awkwardly making his way upstairs, feeling Zemo’s eyes follow him. The evenings were always uncomfortable, parting from Zemo’s side as if he was heading into some other parallel universe that the baron couldn’t follow him to. Even if he technically could. But why would he?

James crashed down on his bed. A part of him wanted to go back downstairs. But why would he?

So he stayed there, breathing deeply, the room way too quiet and empty for his liking. He wondered why the baron had never insisted on coming up here and seeing his room.

Then again, why would he?

***

Zemo

His helpless call rang out through the air. He was scared, shouting out for him. Calling him, over and over again.

That’s when the first rubble fell.

He cried louder, tears stinging in his eyes as the dust thickened in the air.

But more came down. And more, and more, until the whole building collapsed, and Carl screamed —

Zemo jerked awake, tears still fresh in his eyes, heart racing. He gripped whatever he was lying on. Right. A sofa. A real sofa, real fabric. He forced a deep breath. His throat felt hoarse, like he himself had been screaming. But it was only just from the silent weeping. It was so overwhelming that he could almost choke on it.

He slowly sat up, pressing his face to his hands, trying to get the nightmare out of his head. But every time he tried to think of something else, the images raced back, so realistically, like he was reliving them.

“Just a dream,” he told himself, his throat tightening painfully at the very words. It hadn’t been a dream. They were dead because of him.

In the end, Zemo did not manage to fall back asleep, so he decided to get up and move around, give his body something to do. He quietly went down to the basement, inevitably passing by the wine cellar spot. Without really thinking it through, he took out a bottle.

Instead of marching back up with the bottle, however, curiosity got the better of him and he looked around the cellar, strolling by the mini gym where he’d been working out. He placed the bottle on the side table and leaned down to the bin to pull out the scrunched up drawing of Raynor and have a good look at it.

Before he knew it, he was smiling.

Just as fast, however, memories of the dream crashed through him.

Quickly, he opened the bottle and downed a good mouthful.

He was a hypocrite for telling James to stop drinking his pain away when he was doing that exact thing. But it didn’t matter. He was a hypocrite about so many fucking things, nothing mattered.

As he made his way through the cupboards and storage chests, he found a few other things: an old record player, some more dumb bells, even more bottles, and a couple of pistols.

He kept everything as he had found it before making his way back up. He didn't think much of it when he turned to the terrace door and left the house.

With his monitor off, he was free to roam the grounds and the forest and, well, anywhere, really. He could just… leave. He’d be on the run, but he’d be free. He doubted James would even snitch on him if he did. Though Sam would inevitably find out by Sunday. That gave him what, a few days time? But for what?

He drank as he mindlessly made down the deserted road. Though it could barely be called a road. It was a dirt path at best. There weren't even any lampposts this far in the middle of nowhere. But Zemo could still see the street in the bright moonlight, going on for miles and miles over endless hills up to the horizon. Not a car or soul in sight. The world truly seemed abandoned, like the two of them were the only ones left.

Zemo sat down somewhere along that path, leaning back against a tree. He could see the dark house from here, standing alone surrounded by fields. James’ own little Raft. Zemo drank some more, feeling warmth spread throughout his body. A warmth that eerily reminded him of how it felt, being close to James.

Fucking hypocrite.

He sat there for a while longer, letting the cold air and soothing drink calm his mind. A mind that kept oscillating between memories of the nightmare and memories of his time here so far. For some reason, his thoughts kept going back to Bucky's laugh. He downed some more before finally forcing himself to get up.

He stumbled back into the house, hid the bottle away, and crashed onto the couch, staring out the glass doors until the sun dawned, and James woke up.

They fell into their usual the morning routine, making breakfast, heating up coffee.

“Let’s fight today, James,” Zemo said, halfway through his meal.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

James gave him a weird look. “You sure you’re okay?”

Zemo forced a smile. “Of course.”

***

It was colder now, autumn slowly showing its face. The trees of the forest were ever so slightly growing paler, leaves turning yellow. But the cold didn’t get to Zemo that much after he’d warmed up. All the while, James stood there waiting, only idly cracking his neck and stretching his arms.

After some time, Zemo nodded at him, starting the fight.

He went in quick without warning, clenching his teeth as he tried to keep up with the super soldier’s speed, trying to compensate his lack in super strength with technique. His own body felt stronger, more youthful even. These days had been good for him, with real food again, and exercise. He felt more like himself, more like he had before the Raft. Maybe even before Berlin.

And he was quick and agile. Better than last time anyhow.

Only, James was even better than that.

Every time Zemo caught a hold on him, James wrangled out in no time. Every time Zemo made a move to throw him down, James evaded him and grabbed him faster.

Bucky knocked him down on the soft ground.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Zemo’s face was red as they went for yet another round. He pulled James with all his strength and got him down on his back. But just as fast, James grabbed a hold of Zemo and wrangled him into his grasp, forcing his back to his hard chest. He wrapped his legs around the baron, rendering him immobile for the fourth consecutive time.

He wrapped his right arm around Zemo’s throat, constricting him as he huffed and puffed, twisting and struggling. Then, out of nowhere, his wheezed breath came out as a broken sob. Zemo quickly tapped Bucky’s arm.

James let him go immediately. “Hey, you okay?”

Zemo sat up with his back to James, trying to catch his breath. He covered his face with his hand.

“Zemo?”

“I’m fine.” The words were grunted through a tight jaw – a giveaway that he was not alright. Zemo brushed a stray tear away. What the fuck?

“Hey,” James grabbed his shoulder. “You’re the one who suggested we fight.”

“I was not... expecting it to still be this skewed,” he admitted, still panting. It was fucking frustrating, always hoping for a chance to win and then always being the one thrown down instead.

“You’re a sour loser, huh?”

“I am a good fighter.” He hated how defeated he sounded. How defensive.

“I know you are,” James said, his tone both condescending and sweet.

Zemo made to get away but James grabbed him by his shirt and had him back down in no time, pressing him down on the ground with a hand on his chest.

Zemo forgot to breathe as James slowly placed himself on top of him, grabbing his wrists and holding them to the ground next to his head. “Man, you really do hate it, don’t you? You always want to land on top. Too bad. Learn to lose.”

Zemo growled underneath him, still pointlessly trying to get away. 

“You may outsmart me, but physically?” James smiled down at him. “I have the high ground.”

Zemo squirmed. “You could hold back from rubbing salt into the wound.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Zemo knocked his head back against the ground as new tears bubbled up. He looked away. Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me? “James, please.”

James frowned as he backed off. Zemo rolled on his side, back to him again. He had to fight this. This wasn’t supposed to fucking happen, not in front of James of all people. Zemo was the composed one of the two of them.

Fuck.

He wasn’t supposed to let his emotions show like this. But frustration was bubbling up inside of him like a dormant volcano now exploding and he could barely hold it in. He hadn’t felt this way in a while, but with the nightmare and the drinking and the lack of sleep, all of it was culminating now. In this instance. Right next to James.

Why couldn’t he have had his breakdown in the middle of nowhere last night?

He fought to keep his tears in, his body rewarding him by making another ugly sob sound.

“Zemo, hey,” a soft hand came to his arm.

He clenched his teeth, fighting the deluge with all his might. “It’s not you, James,” he forced out.

“Yeah, you can say that all you want.” James placed his hand on his nape, the touch surprisingly grounding. “Come on, is it really that bad?”

Zemo took a shaky inhale, letting his head fall, his hair covering his face as he tried to relax. “That is easy for you to say. You are not the one being defeated over and over again.”

“I know it’s wrong. You think I don’t know that? I didn’t ask for this.”

Zemo took another stuttering breath as he stared at the ground. “James...”

“What?”

“I —” He dared a glance at Bucky.

James really looked unsure of himself, the way his eyebrows has scrunched up, the way his gaze had softened. “You sure you’re okay? I was just teasing, you know. I’m sorry.”

Zemo shook his head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“There was a moment, James, when I thought about it,” he started, watching Bucky’s reaction intensely. He didn’t want to admit this, but he had to get it off his chest. It had been gnawing at him for months now, like a parasite drawing life away from him.

Bucky’s frown only deepened. “Thought about what? What are you talking about?”

“About taking the serum,” he finally confessed. The admission didn’t make him feel any lighter. He felt angrier, if anything. He felt like punching something. Anything. Most of all himself. But he only shook his head. “What a hypocrite that makes me, James.”

“It doesn’t make you a hypocrite, it makes you human.”

Zemo gave him a look. “I fought all this time to stop this madness, and there I was, staring at that vial. And for one— for one split second — James, that one split second was enough. I was… I was tempted. That is all that matters.” Zemo huffed, new ferocity boiling up in his chest. “I don’t even deserve to be here. You never had a choice. But I wavered.”

“Hey.” James moved from his nape to his shoulder, holding him tight. “I would have thought about it too. Hell, I might have even taken it of my own free will in the forties, following Steve’s lead.”

Zemo stared out onto the field. “It’s different for me… the serum is what I have fought against this whole time… and now? Now I know that all the morals and beliefs I hold are as feeble as empty promises. They amount to nothing, James.”

“That’s not true. You destroyed the vials in the end.”

“And I may have properly finished the job if Walker hadn’t hit me with the shield. If I hadn’t hesitated that split second, would I have been able to make sure all the vials were destroyed? Walker must have gotten it from there. It was my fault.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes, James,” Zemo gave him a sad smile. “And that is what haunts me. That, and the knowledge of my own hypocrisy.” He looked James up and down. “If I really believed my own values, I would not be here to help you. And if I were here at all, it would be to kill you.”

“You said you decided not to,” James said with a cheeky smile.

“Yes,” Zemo said quietly. “That is my point exactly. If I were to truly follow my ethics, there would be no exceptions.”

Zemo gazed at him, at the soft way James was looking at him. It made him want to melt right into him.

I am a hypocrite about so many things, James.

James

“Yes, well, the world isn’t all in black and white,” James replied. He took a deep breath. He realized something the moment he said that: this was something that applied to him too.

This whole time, he’d been thinking of the Soldier as a completely separate entity, severed from him, with no overlap. But what if he was wrong? What if, like he’d literally just said, it wasn’t all black and white? What if the lines weren’t actually that defined? Maybe it was more complicated than that.

Maybe the Soldier was still a part of him, but maybe it wasn’t the way he thought it was.

James wasn’t sure what that entailed, if it was true. Maybe it was better not to dwell on it now.

“Let’s call it a day,” he said.

Surprisingly, Zemo didn’t put up a fight. He simply nodded, even as they both stayed sitting where they were.

“You wanna stop fighting altogether?” James asked the baron then.

“No, of course not, James.” Zemo gave him a smile that seemed genuine. “I usually enjoy it, despite the… imbalance.”

“Good.” James nodded, selfishly relieved. “Good.” He took a deep breath. “You know, our first fight? That was like the first time I actually had fun since this whole therapy house arrest started.”

“Did you ever have fun before the therapy?” Zemo asked.

“Yeah,” James grinned, leaning back on his arms, lounging back in the sun.

Zemo turned slightly to look at him. He was waiting for him to elaborate, clearly.

James shrugged, but the glance he gave him must have given Zemo all the information he needed.

“You enjoyed Madripoor.”

“We had something to do,” James started explaining, justifying himself the same way he had justified himself to Sam, when he’d helped the baron escape prison. The lengths he’d gone for that guy…

“You had a purpose,” Zemo continued for him.

“Yeah. And I was conscious, for once.”

“That does help, yes.”

James chuckled despite himself, and somehow Zemo let out a faint laugh too.

A frown returned involuntarily to Bucky's face, however, as he thought back to the times he'd been unconscious.

He bit the inside of his lip.

“Are you alright?” the baron asked this time.

James grunted before making up his mind. He needed Zemo to help him figure this out. He knew the baron wouldn’t sugarcoat the truth, and he needed that right now. “Do you really think he’s still in there?”

Zemo gazed at him for a moment. “What do you think?”

James shrugged again. “I dunno.”

“I think you do.”

James looked away.

“It does not make you less James.” James nodded, despite not believing him. Maybe Zemo was sugarcoating after all. Sure felt like it. “Nor does it make you broken. You cannot change the past, James. You had no say in what they did to you. And after what they did to you, James, trust me, you are doing exceptionally well still being here, fighting this.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I could have stopped it all from happening, if I had fought just a bit harder, back then.”

Zemo

Zemo couldn’t say he was surprised that James thought of the past like that. Though that didn't make hearing him admit it any less harrowing.

“Your mind is cycling back to the past, turning it into something else, to make you feel guilty.” In that moment, Zemo saw him. Carl, in the rubble.

He blinked, trying to steady his breathing. He could feel his heart start beating faster.

The next words came out like Zemo was in a trance. He wasn't sure if he was talking to James or to himself. “You did everything you could. It wasn’t your fault.”

He barely noticed James slowly sit up to face him. “Zemo?”

A warm hand cupped his cheek. Zemo instinctively slapped it away, regretting it instantly as he snapped out of it. He watched James retreat, both physically and mentally. He could tell when he put up those walls. He could see it in his eyes, his expression, he’d heard it in his voice at the beginning of those calls.

“I’m sorry,” they both muttered at the same time.

“Don’t be,” Zemo said quickly. “I was… My mind was…”

“I get it,” James said, but in his tone Zemo knew he was distant. Zemo wondered whether Bucky's mind was caught in a self-deprecating spiral right now.

“James.”

“Yeah?”

“I wasn’t here, James. It was an instinctive impulse. I didn't realize it was you. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I know,” James said quietly. “Happens to me sometimes too.”

A little shimmer of light returned to those pupils. Zemo couldn’t help but tilt his head and narrow his eyes as he watched in real time the way James seemed to open up again. Like a flower blooming in the sunlight after a long night. Like he was slowly, cautiously putting down a shield.

“You know,” James started, “I do really hate that this is so imbalanced. In another life, I would have loved to just… be normal. It would have been nice to get to fight you. But properly.”

Zemo gave him a look of disbelief. “Come, James. You? Sad that you can overpower me whenever you please?”

“Yes.” James grinned. “It is frustrating.”

“You don’t sound very frustrated.”

His smile dwindled. “I don’t like the feeling. And I don’t like the way it makes you feel either. You think I enjoy seeing you struggle?”

Zemo shrugged.

James smiled at that, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“That I am.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

Zemo held his breath. He couldn’t have James keep asking him that. If he did, he knew he’d break, sooner or later. He glanced away as he lied. “Fine.”

So much for telling the truth.

Hypocrite.

Chapter Text

James

James kept a close eye on Zemo after their fight. He’d been acting strange today and kept acting strange into the evening. And it hadn't just been his breakdown during the fight. His snarky comments weren't as witty, his humor wasn't as upbeat. He wasn’t speaking as much as usual. That was certainly the sign that something was off.

James wondered if the baron had somehow gotten to the bottom of this whole therapy conspiracy, that he'd found out something horrendous. If he had, James didn’t want to know. Ever since Zemo had brought up how deranged the very idea of this whole parole was, James couldn’t shake the thought that something else was going on. But was it better to know, or to find bliss in ignorance?

After all, if danger suddenly appeared at their door, James knew he could fight it off. But maybe this was bigger than just some fight. Maybe it was more manipulative than that. Zemo's area of expertise, so no surprise he'd get to the bottom of it. James could only speculate. Maybe this parole was a plan from the government to get Zemo killed. If a part of Zemo had expected James to kill him, was it so farfetched that the government too was counting on James doing their dirty job for them?

But his theories kept hitting road blocks and dead ends. If they really wanted Zemo dead, why not just get him killed in secret on the Raft? Surely they could pull some strings, make it look like an accident. Why bring him here, to James? What was his role in all this?

Was he supposed to prove once and for all that he still had the Winter Soldier inside of him? Or at least that he was still a killer, so that they could keep him off the grid indefinitely?

There were so many possibilities. Did Raynor know about it? Why did she say yes?

“James?”

James blinked, back on the couch, the texture of paper against his fingers fading in. “What?”

“You were staring at the blank spot on the wall.”

James set aside the book. He’d stopped reading it ever since his mind had wandered. “Old habit.”

“You must have been bored out of your mind before I came here,” Zemo tsked.

“You give yourself too much credit,” James shot back before leaning against the sofa. “But yeah, it was pretty boring. I didn’t take care of myself as much as y — you know, now.” He nervously ran a hand through his hair. He'd be damned if he admitted Zemo was taking care of him. “Just waited, mostly. It’s nice to… have someone here to take my mind off things.”

“That is why I’m here,” he replied with a smile, before his mouth twitched into a frown. He brought his attention back to his novel. It had to be something about the parole. It had to be.

James scrutinized him. For some funny reason, Zemo was reminding him of himself. The expression, the way he shut himself off... “What’s been going on with you?”

“Me?” Zemo perked his head up. He clearly forced a smile. “What would be going on with me, James?”

“You’ve been off since this morning. You think I haven’t noticed?” James raised his eyebrows while Zemo stayed silent. “What’s going on?”

Zemo glanced down, taking a deep breath. He set his book down as well. “James...”

“Honesty? Remember? Can you do that?”

Zemo met his gaze. “I dreamed of Carl.”

James felt his heart drop in his chest as his eyes widened. “Shit. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Shit shit shit. “I don’t know why I…”

“James.” Zemo leaned forward to place a hand on his forearm. “It’s fine.”

“No.” James leaned back. “I — I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t owe me any explanations.”

“We did agree on truth.”

“I don’t blame you for lying. It’s… it’s personal.”

“As are your nightmares.”

“Yeah, but you’re officially here to help me with those. Kinda in the parole agreement.”

“Still.” Zemo sighed. “I should have told you.”

“No, you don't need to.” James gnawed at his lip. “But you can. If you want to. If... if it helps, like it helps for me.”  

“I’m here to help you. I’m not here for you to help me, James.”

“I know it’s not in the agreement, but I want to help you too, if I can. So… if you do want to talk about it, I’m here. I won’t... judge or anything.”

Zemo gazed at him for a moment. “Why?”

James shrugged. “We’re in this together, right? We can help each other out.” James took another deep breath. “You know what? I’ll go make you some tea.”

Zemo

Zemo sat quietly on the couch as James hurried to get the tea ready. He could tell the man was anxious. He’d prodded and Zemo had cracked. Still, it came as a surprise that admitting to the dream had not felt like a burden. It had somehow lightened the load instead. It felt easier to breathe, now that it was out in the open, and there were... less secrets between them.

James quickly returned with two hot teacups. “Cherry blossom.”

“My favorite,” Zemo said as he nodded, taking one of them.

“I know, that's why I chose it.” James sat back down.

Zemo sipped the hot beverage, letting it warm up his insides. Though he supposed it wasn't the only reason he felt so flushed.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Zemo shrugged. It felt easier to talk, his body less tense, now that James knew what this was about. “It was nothing new. I get the dream sometimes. It’s always the same, reminding me of how…” He inhaled. “I couldn’t save them.”

James grabbed his hand, squeezing.

“I am sorry, about what I did to avenge them,” Zemo started. “I was blinded by my own rage. I would have done anything that was necessary to get what I wanted. You were not a person to me, only a tool. But now..." He looked down at the steaming drink. "I do regret my actions. I had, inevitably, become what I had hated so much: a vigilante who would value their own ends over the value of human lives.”

“You were in pain.”

“I was. That does not change the fact that it was wrong.”

“It happened. You can't change that anymore. But you've changed because of it. You're not the same person anymore,” James told him, squeezing his hand again.

Zemo nodded in defeat. “That I am not.” He tried to keep his breathing steady. “But sometimes I am afraid of how much I have changed. How much I forget, over the years...”

“Is there anything we can get, maybe I can call in a favor with Sam, maybe photos, or something, memorabilia?”

Zemo felt his heart leap into his chest. “Thank you, James.”

“I honestly keep forgetting we’re not actually in a prison. I can ask for real favors.”

“Well,” Zemo nodded at the ankle monitor on the table across the room, “officially…”

“Yeah yeah, whatever. You know what I mean.” James gave him a reassuring a smile and another squeeze. It made a crushing sensation rush to his chest. Zemo knew what feeling this was: the feeling of not being alone.

He’d been so used to doing this on his own, fighting the past by himself. He’d had no one left. No one but Oeznik, bless the old man’s soul. But in his schemes, during those long terrible nights, he’d been completely alone. In Berlin, alone. In Siberia, alone. On the Raft, in his cell, alone.

Until James had first called.

For the first time since Sokovia, his family, and his squad, he wasn’t alone anymore.

He could feel the bricks he’d built between him and the world, even between him and James slowly crumble. The same way he’d seen James' walls crumble in those soft eyes.

Maybe… maybe he could trust James fully. Maybe he could let down his guard. Not in a way where he didn’t care if he died. But in a way where he put all of his trust in the man, trusting him to help him, protect him, be there for him. As James expected of him.

He wondered how James would look at him if he truly showed himself at his worst. Laid it all out bare, without any humor or snarky remarks to cover it up.

“Zemo?” the warm hand squeezed his wrist again. “You okay? You look tired.”

Zemo smiled. “Haven’t you heard, James? One should never tell a baron they look tired.”

“Did you sleep at all, after the nightmare?” James asked, not falling for Zemo’s deflection.

He shook his head as he placed the empty tea cup on the coffee table. Fuck it. “I drank and went out for a walk,” he confessed.

James gave him a look.

“Hypocrite, James. I did tell you.”

James took a deep breath, hands still holding him. “Get some sleep tonight okay? You can take my bed if you want. Really, I mean it.”

“No need, James. The couch is perfectly fine.”

“Alright, but… but give me a shout if you can’t fall asleep or if you have another nightmare. Don’t keep all the drinks to yourself next time.”

Zemo chuckled. “James, you need your sleep too.”

“Fuck that,” James said pointedly. “Wake me, alright?”

“Yes, sir.” Zemo sighed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be there for James. Not James going out of his way for him.

“Right.” He squeezed him one last time before he let go. Zemo couldn’t help but exhale the same way he had when James had smacked the teacup from his hand in Riga. What he’d give to feel that warm skin again. “Good night, baron. And don’t worry, you look great.”

James patted his shoulder before making up the stairs.

“So do you,” Zemo turned to tell him. “For being a hundred something.”

He heard a laugh from halfway up the stairs. “Fuck you.”

Zemo couldn’t stop a smile from spreading on his face as he lay back, one hand under his head. He took another deep breath. He was here for James, but fuck. Maybe this would help him too.

***

James

“I still can’t believe you’re doing all of this,” James said as he helped Zemo cut onions to put into the vegetable casserole. “Didn’t know you were that into cooking.”

Zemo shrugged casually as he put the cut aubergine into the pot. “It is less about cooking and more about having something to do. Especially something you can do with your hands. And it is a purpose, James.”

The baron was motioning wildly again. James couldn't help but smile. He was back to his lively self.

“Purpose is the one thing I don’t have.” James told him. “And probably never will.”

“Please, James.”

“Killing was all I was made for, and I’m not allowed to do that now, so...” James slashed the onion.

“Enough with that,” Zemo chided, motioning with the knife in his hand as he moved on to the carrots. “Forget what ideas everyone has put into your head.” He pointed at him. “What do you want to do?”

James thought about it. Nothing came to mind. Absolutely nothing. He shrugged.

“Alright,” Zemo said as he continued cutting, “then we shall make it our mission to find out what you like.”

James looked up at Zemo as he concentrated on his work.

Find out what you like…

He glanced at the baron’s lips. His mouth was ever so slightly open, as usual. He wondered how those lips...

Find out what you like…

The air was getting hotter for some reason, the room smaller. He quickly snapped out of it, turning his attention back to his chopping board. He couldn’t let his mind wander like that.

Once they were done and the food was in the oven, James sat down to read on the couch, Zemo sitting down on the other end. He was still flustered by the baron’s innocent words, but he didn’t have long to mull them over as Zemo promptly lowered his book.

“May I have your phone again, to order some more things?”

James glanced up at him. “Yeah, sure.” For some reason, his heart beat faster as he pulled out his phone and handed it over to the baron.

“You need to unlock it,” Zemo said, frowning at the black screen.

“No, there’s no password, you can just swipe up.”

Zemo gave him a bewildered look.

“What? Not like anyone’s here to snoop around on it,” James explained. Zemo raised his eyebrows. “You know what I mean.”

“Unbelievable.” Zemo shook his head as he opened the phone and went to work.

Unlike last time, James really couldn’t see what he was up to now. He could go on his messages with Sam, check his search history, his call history.

James was feeling feverish. He ran his fingers through his hair as he heart thumped way too hard in his chest. It felt like he was baring himself completely to the baron, his whole identity in the palm of his hands.

He tried to concentrate on the words on the page, but he didn’t get through a single sentence as he waited for the baron to be done.

It wasn’t even that he would find anything incriminating. Because of the news rule, social media was off the table, not that James had ever been on there much at all. He used his phone pretty much just for what phones were supposed to be for: calling people.

Well, that, and ordering stuff, he supposed.

“There,” Zemo finally said, handing the phone back. James stashed it away quick.

“What did you order?” he asked, unable to keep his curiosity at bay.

Zemo smiled at that, not answering as he picked up his book again.

“Really?”

James could see him smirk behind the paperback.

Alone from that expression, James could tell he was doing much better than the day before. Both of them had slept through the night, neither of them had nightmares. Well, that was if the baron had been telling the truth that morning anyway. But James could tell when he was lying too, and Zemo had seemed genuine, telling him that he’s slept like a rock over breakfast.

He could feel it in the air as well. It felt lighter, not as burdened.

***

Even as he lay in bed that night, James continued to wonder what Zemo could have possibly ordered. He had a feeling it was more than just food. Had he gone and ordered a bed for himself? James wouldn’t have been surprised if he did. It reminded him of when he had first gotten to the house.

He'd been bored out of his mind, even with Raynor's homework of things to do - none of which helped with the nightmares. Like writing in his stupid journal, or taking a daily walk, or god forbid meditating. Useless shit, as per usual.

So when the nightmares kept coming, James had taken things into his own hands. Half in hopes of making things get better, half in defiance of this house he’d been given.

The first thing he’d done was rearrange the room, putting down the annoying paintings, some of which ended up downstairs, the rest in the basement. Then he'd gotten some dark purple curtains to the block out the moonlight in the night.

Raynor had told him sleeping on the floor was a non-negotiable, so James found the middle ground, ordering the hardest type of mattress he could find. But it had worked. He could sleep in a bed now.

Still, the nightmares stayed. So he continued to search for ways to avoid them.

He’d read that soothing smells helped, so he’d ordered lavender candles, letting them burn in the evening, always silently praying that the room would catch on fire.

“Oh no!” He’d imagined himself say to Raynor. “How could that have happened? Silly me.”

James smiled just thinking back to it.

Unfortunately, the room never caught on fire. And though the smell was nice, and he tried several other scents, like chamomile and cedar oil, it still didn’t help with the nightmares. So he continued his experiments.

He got a weighted blanket which, incidentally, had made his nightmares worse. So he dismissed that and instead found an ambient light that stayed on throughout the night, with a nature sound function. Crazy what shit existed these days. Unfortunately, the looping sounds soon got on his nerves, so he turned that off but kept the dim light.

Cool air was supposed to help too, so he opened up his windows in the night. He acclimated himself to the rush of the breeze, and the sounds of the countryside at night: owls howling, the chorus of crickets, the trickling of the spring rain.

To this day, it was a neverending and continuous struggle, trying to reassure his body that he was safe here. To convince himself that when he woke from the nightmares, he was in this house, not in the past, certainly not the Winter Soldier.

The silver lining of it all was that, despite the continued nightmares, at least his room felt much more personalized. The scent of candles was light but there, the curtains fluttered in the wind, the dim light was set to yellow and gave a nice glow to the room.

Even with all the night terrors, he kinda liked the space. Truth be told, he actually liked it better than the rest of the house and even the pond out in the forest. The water eerily reminded him of all the times he’d almost drowned. He didn’t know why he kept being pulled to it, why he kept going. He only hoped Zemo had liked the place.

He wondered if Zemo would like his room, not that his opinion really mattered. But looking around, James had a feeling the baron would approve. He desperately needed to find some excuse to get Zemo up here without sounding like he was… James inhaled, running his hands over the big mattress. He looked over to the empty spot next to him.

He could already tell he wasn’t going to sleep well tonight.

His thoughts were going in endless circles.

Ever so carefully, he made his way downstairs. As expected, the baron was fast asleep. Good. James continued his way to the bathroom.

Remembering the candles had given him an idea. And he knew this was weird as fuck, but he couldn’t help his own curiosity.

He opened the washing basket and mulled around until he found one of Zemo’s sweaters. He pulled it up and pressed it to his face, inhaling it.

God, it did smell good.

He heard the soft patter of bare feet.

Quickly, he dumped the sweater back into the basket.

“James?”

Bucky still managed to almost jump out of his skin as he spun around. “Hmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Sleepwalking?”

Zemo leaned against the door frame. He looked different. More vulnerable than usual. His guard didn’t seem up. He looked surprisingly relaxed. Less snarky than usual. Which said a lot.

“Nightmares?” James asked, worried that was the explanation for his changed demeanor.

Zemo shook his head. “You?”

“Not yet anyway. Couldn’t sleep.”

“So what are you doing down here?”

“I don’t know,” James glanced down at the clothes. “Thought I’d bring down the washing.”

Bring down the washing? What the fuck was he saying?

“In the middle of the night?”

James shrugged and crossed his arms, staring at the baron, who exhaled softly, letting himself lean on the doorframe. For some reason, it made his insides heat up.

Maybe it was the way the baron was moving. Maybe it was the state he was in, half asleep. Like this was something James wasn't supposed to see. Maybe it was the fact that he was only wearing a white shirt and shorts, showing off so much skin...

God the room did feel hot. And small.

Bucky could tell the baron was slowly becoming more lucid as his eyes narrowed, as his head tilted, observing him.

James wished he had the balls to ask the baron to come upstairs. But what was he supposed to ask, “Can you come upstairs to sleep with me?” That question sounded absolutely unhinged, even in James’ head. Alone the double meaning of “sleep”, fucking hell. But explaining that he was just asking so he wouldn’t feel alone? That was even crazier.

“Let me help you,” Zemo said then.

James must have blacked out for a second. “What?”

“I’ll help you bring the washing down.”

“No,” James shook his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Just trouble sleeping.”

“Let me make you some Melatonin tea, at least. You made tea for me, after all.”

James gazed at him. “Melatonin doesn't work on me.”

Lord knew he'd tried.

“I know. Shall I make you some anyway?”

James hesitated before nodding. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” With that, Zemo nodded and left to go to the kitchen. James took a moment to breathe, glancing at the sweater and shaking his head. Slowly he followed the baron. He was already heating up water, but on the way to the kitchen, he’d donned his damned bathrobe again.

“You do know that’s my bathrobe, right?” James finally said with a cheeky smile.

Zemo inhaled sharply at his comment, glancing at him sheepishly. “Apologies. I… It became a habit.” He quickly started pulling it off.

“No, no, it’s okay. You can keep it.”

Even just saying the words made his cheeks feel warm.

Zemo hesitated, robe halfway off his shoulders.

James was ashamed by where his mind was going. This was embarrassing.

“Really, Zemo. You can keep it.”

“No,” Zemo finally pulled it off completely and passed it to James. “You should take it back. I have my own.”

Seriously?

James shook his head with a smile as Zemo went to grab his. While his back was turned, James chanced a deep inhale of the robe. It fucking smelled like the baron alright, no trace of his own smell left. Hastily, he put it on.

When Zemo returned, he was wearing a thin night robe. Bucky's mind short-circuited at the sight.

Unlike Bucky's thick robe, which had covered him like an oversized blanket, this actually fit him. Almost too well. The soft velvet silk flowed with every move he made. It fucking... actually... looked... fuck.

Snap out of it. Idiot!

James really had to pull himself together.

“Tea is ready.”

“Yeah,” James said, inadvertently leaning down to sniff at his robe again, mind heady from the smell and the sight. He needed help. “Thanks.”

***

James slept like a rock that night, night robe tangled up next to him, his face buried inside of it.

It had helped. Better than any of the other scents he’d tried. He couldn’t say he was too surprised. He just hoped the baron would never find out about it.

So instead of heading down in said bathrobe, he got changed first. It had been enough of a close call last night, with him ogling at the baron and drowning in his smell, all while trying not to show it.

He needed to regain his composure again.

Act normal, he told himself as he arrived downstairs.

Zemo had already laid the table and was sipping coffee. He’d changed already as well, his hair wet from a shower.

“You sleep at all?” James asked, weary of the answer.

“I did,” Zemo replied with a cocky smile. “Woke a bit earlier, wanted to make the most of it.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

James passed him by to open the front door.

It was pretty windy, but at least it didn’t look like it was going to rain. At least not yet.

James glanced down. Lo and behold, Zemo’s order had arrived.

He heaved it in and placed on the kitchen island. “May I?” he asked before opening the box.

“Please,” Zemo said with a little smile as he lifted his mug. “Be my guest.”

James sighed as he opened the crate. As expected, there were more ingredients for more dishes. But there were also little packets. Seeds. James pulled them out. Cabbage, green onions, and carrots.

“So we can grow our own,” Zemo explained.

“Yeah, no shit.”

James set them aside, mind stuck on Zemo’s choice of words: our. Our own.

“Gardening is one of those things that might be nice, James,” Zemo said as he leaned against the counter next to him. “It give your hands something to do, you are out in the fresh air, the feeling of earth is grounding.”

James glanced at him, nodding slowly. Then he pulled out two more packets. These weren’t vegetables, but flowers. Marigolds and Forget-me-nots.

“Got carried away again,” Zemo mumbled. “I thought the garden could use some more… colors.”

James smiled as he placed those packets aside too. When he realized what was in the box underneath them, his heart skipped a beat. He reached down in the crate, pulling out a heap of vinyls. “These are…”

“You said you liked 40s music.”

“I…” James paged through them. “I… didn’t think you’d remember that.”

“I listened. As you listened to me.”

James felt his chest tighten before glancing at the baron. “I don’t have a record player though.”

Zemo chuckled at that. “You do, actually.”

James frowned at him.

“There is one. I saw it in the basement.”

“You snooping around?” James asked, suddenly hot in the face. If Zemo had been snooping around, he sure as hell would have found at least one of his stashed away guns.

“I noticed it when we were training. Or rather, when I was training.”

“Ah okay,” he said, trying to calm his beating heart.

Then again, what was he worried about? So what if Zemo found the guns?

“Come, let’s try it out. I’ll bring the turntable up.”

Zemo hurried down into the basement, James slowly sitting down to sip his own coffee. He looked through the records while Zemo set everything up in the living area.

“Any preferences?” the baron asked as he plugged it in.

James shrugged as he got up, randomly passing him one of the vinyls. He didn’t really have a preference at all.

He sat back on the sofa to watch Zemo place it on the turntable and put down the needle.

Slowly, music filled the house. It felt uncanny, hearing music vibrate through the air after such a long time of silence.

Zemo swayed to the sound, tapping his finger on the table.

The music brought back so many memories he’d thought he’d forgotten. When he closed his eyes, it was like was back. He could smell the exhaust fumes of the city roads, the tobacco cigarettes, he could hear the laughter, the radio static, the rustle of newspaper. So many small details.

He reopened his eyes.

He wasn’t back.

He was here, right now.

Something cracked inside of him.

Zemo

Zemo really liked this. The music was nice, James had good taste.

“It really makes the place feel homely,” he started, “doesn’t it?” he turned around. But James was no longer sitting on the couch. “James?”

He walked over to the kitchen. Empty. Bathroom. Empty.

Zemo returned to quickly lift the pin, the house falling back into its usual silence. “James?”

Shivers ran up the baron’s spine. He blinked, trying to get flashbacks of the blip out of his mind.

He couldn't think of that. Not now.

He searched the basement and the garden. No one.

He made halfway up the stairs. “James?” he called out. The door to his bedroom was open, but no sound came from it. Zemo went back downstairs, falling down on the couch, fiddling with his fingers nervously as his heart raced.

James was gone.

Chapter Text

Zemo...

... about 6 years ago

“Nochmal.” Zemo grinned as the man across from him put the pawns back in place. The baron glanced at the cameras in the corners of the open cafeteria. He had no plans to escape, but he couldn’t help his subconscious desire to know the layout of this prison inch by inch.

“Alright,” he mumbled to himself in English as he analyzed the opening move of his opponent. He pushed his pawn forward.

Prison had its ups and downs.

Solitary confinement was the worst of all, but Zemo didn’t look for trouble, so they had no excuses to put him away. Not after Ross lost interest. If anything, the inmates liked him. Or maybe rather feared him. Zemo didn’t know which he preferred. He was one of the only ones here with his level of military background.

And he wagered most of them knew who he was.

He let the rumors do the heavy lifting.

But truth be told, most of these guys were lovely. The man across from him, Joseph, was one of them. He moved his knight, taking one of Zemo’s pawns. The baron was tempted to call him a friend, mostly because he was Zemo’s go-to partner for chess. The guy never said no.

Zemo hummed as he slowly made his next move.

And to think that chess wasn’t even the highlight of incarceration. Yes, there were the books, but in the end, it was the stories of his fellow inmates that fascinated Zemo. Their stories, all told in different languages. Zemo made new acquaintances and allies, brushed up on his foreign vocabulary and general culture, and even got workout tips. The silver-lining of it all.

Joseph cleared his throat.

Zemo was just going to ask him if he was alright when he saw it.

Like embers after a fire. They started at his elbow, on the table, floating away into the air.

Joseph frowned as he faded away. “What the f-”

Zemo was transfixed as the man's whole body demateralized. The baron's body worked on automatic as he slowly backed off, chair grating against the floor as he stared at the empty seat where Joseph had just sat.

When he glanced around, that was when he realized how much he'd zoned out. People were fading left and right, others screaming and shouting, calls echoing somewhere far, far away.

He looked up at the guards.

But they weren’t watching. They were grabbing one of their co-workers, who was fading too.

The air grew thick with floating ashes before they cleared. The disappeared, completely gone as if they'd never been there at all.

Things got so silence then.

Zemo didn’t remember much from that day or the days after.

All he remembered was everything being on red alert. And the news… It took months for him to be able to check the news without flinching, without feeling that horrible sense of dread.

Even before that day, he didn’t have anyone left on earth that he loved, but he knew what it felt like to lose that. Everyone had lost something now.

He sat alone, in silence at the cafeteria, staring at the chest board, without anyone to play with him.

James

The wind was growing stronger every second, the clouds getting darker. James watched the water on the pond ripple. He was surprised Zemo hadn’t followed him here.

He couldn’t blame him for staying away though. Or maybe the baron just wanted to be home when he’d return.

He took another deep breath, letting the cool air roll through him, closing his eyes to take it in.

How could he start explaining what had happened?

The music had awoken something in him… the spirit of his past, memories long buried, but… but he’d expected that.

That wasn’t what had made him leave.

He crossed his arms tight over his chest, pushing down this weird feeling. The tingly feeling at the back of his throat, that tears threatened again, the same way they had burst out earlier.

Zemo couldn’t see him like that.

Sure, the memories in part were what had made him emotional. But it was the realization, when it hit, that really got to him.

The realization that he didn’t actually want to go back.

When he had opened his eyes again, when he had glanced up at the baron, his back swaying softly to the music… he’d realized he preferred to stay right here, in the present. With Zemo.

Because it felt right. Because he felt safe, cared for, listened to, for once.

All the things Zemo was doing for him… even just being there…

All those realizations had crashed through him at once. They’d hit him so hard that he’d started crying before he’d been able to stop himself. And no way was he going to let the baron see him crack like that – despite the fact that Zemo had surely heard him cry on the phone.

Didn’t matter. He’d rushed away in the heat of the moment to cry in peace, making a straight line to the forest, where he could let himself come down from his emotions.

It was slowly starting to rain as he made his way back. The lights of the house were on. The moment James stepped up on the terrace, he could see Zemo hastily getting up from the couch. The baron hurried to the glass door and opened it for him.

“James, I overstepped. I’m sorry.”

James grabbed his upper arm, stopping him right there. The baron was oddly similar to him, in many ways. Including his tendency to always assume the worst. “No,” he said quickly, pushing him back inside, to the warmth, closing the door behind them. “You didn’t.”

Zemo gazed up at him, eyes darting between his, like the baron was trying to figure him out, figure out what had made him leave.

James hesitated. It felt so fucking hard to talk, now that he was here, face to face with the baron.

“I, um… It wasn’t you.”

“James...”

James gazed down into those eyes, only then realizing now how close they were, inches apart, the baron’s quick breaths fanning his face.

His eyes wandered over his jaw. He imagined what it would feel like caressing those cheeks, that stubble with his thumbs. The smoldering look Zemo would give him. His fingers twitched on the baron’s bicep, itching to touch. Itching to reassure the baron.

“It was…” James mumbled, trying to sound comforting. “It was nice.”

Zemo frowned up at him, tilting his head. “Then why did you leave?”

James let out a stuttering breath. He had to control himself. He let Zemo go, turning away to run a hand through his hair. “I don’t know… it… I just wasn’t expecting… all of this.”

“So it did overwhelm you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed so much at once. We’ll take things slow.”

James smiled as he turned back to him. “No, it’s okay.”

Zemo raised his eyebrows, clearly not convinced.

“I like the rhythm.” James smirked as he slowly moved to the record player. He was such a fucking genius for his beautiful play on words. Maybe the baron’s witticism was rubbing off on him.

“If it’s too much, James, it’s okay. We can slow down.”

“Shh,” James hushed as he put the needle on the record again.

Soft nostalgic music rang through the room. James let his eyes close again. He took a deep breath, tilting his head up to the ceiling. The mix of nostalgia and euphoria was hard to explain.

“Thank you for all of this,” he said as he reopened his eyes.

He turned to see Zemo nodding. He was looking at him with those eyes again. “I thought it would help.”

“It is helping.”

Zemo gazed at him, clearly trying to figure out if James was telling the truth or masking anxiety.

James dared to slowly stroll up to Zemo, halting only once the baron had inhaled sharply. In fear or anticipation, James didn’t know. He enjoyed it either way. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much too fast, okay?”

“I don’t trust you with that,” the baron simply said.

Rain started pounding hard against the windows.

James glanced at the ground. “I’m sorry I left. You were worried. I’ll try not to leave next time I’m… like that.”

“Like what?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not good with emotions. And I was... emotional.”

“You need to be able to have space, James. I’m not here to make you uncomfortable.”

“I know, but…” He met the baron’s gaze. “I kinda ditched you without warning. I just… I had no idea you’d be so… affected by my leaving.”

Zemo tilted his head back upright with that inhale of his, frowning. “What makes you think I was affected?”

James laughed. “I promise I won’t just disappear on you again, okay? I’ll let you know.”

Zemo seemed to hesitate. Then he exhaled and nodded. James really couldn’t tell if the baron believed him or not. It was going to be on him to prove him that he meant it.

Or maybe… maybe it was time for James to pluck up his courage and not run away when he got vulnerable. For him to stay on the line, even when emotions overwhelmed him.

He really did trust Zemo. So what was stopping him?

***

Zemo...

… still about 6 years ago

Zemo walked down the hall slowly, trailing his fingers along the wall to have a texture to feel, to keep him grounded. His mind was doing that thing again, thinking over so much that he’d forget he was even walking. Or where he was. Or who he was. But could anyone blame him? Half of the universe had just —

“Hey,” came a sudden shout from in front of him.

Zemo returned to his body, to the present, as one of the bulkier guys marched straight for him.

“You’re the guy in here for breaking apart the avengers right?”

The man didn’t even give Zemo time to respond when he dove at him, fist meeting his cheek in a loud crack, whooping his head around.

Zemo almost stumbled to the ground as he gasped.

Fuck. He shouldn't have let his guard down like that.

Quickly, he got into defensive position. He dodged the next hit but only barely, letting his forearm take the thrust of the next punch.

Warm iron was filling his mouth.

He spit out the blood as he dodged another hit.

“My kids are dead because of you!” the man roared as he struck at him in quick succession.

“I didn’t kill them!” Zemo managed to huff before another kick hit him.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Zemo saw two guards making their way down the hall towards them. Thank goodness. Zemo managed to step back from the next couple of throws, though one blow got him in his side, forcing him to double over for a split second.

The guy threw a punch just as Zemo leaned back up. He barely dodged it.

“You’re the reason they’re dead.” He drew his fist back from where he'd hit the wall right next to his face, concrete crumbling.

Zemo glanced at the guards. Were they slowing down?

The man spat at him. “You broke up the avengers. They could have stopped that monster!”

“What? You don’t know that.”

The man roared. Zemo dodged the next hit but then a hard gut punch found his stomach. He doubled over again, falling on his knees.

He should have kept up his training. He shouldn’t have let this disaster put him into that cynical headspace again.

Well, at least he was going to die now.

He glanced at the guards.

As he expected, they were just watching, letting it happen.

The man kicked his side, forcing him on his back as he held his stomach. He glared up at the man, who was panting, both shoulders lifting which each hard inhale.

“Do it,” Zemo spit, blood flying from his mouth.

“No,” he huffed down at him with a maniacal chuckle. “You don’t get that mercy.”

With that, he marched away.

Zemo groaned, slowly rolling to get up. He heard the guard footsteps grow closer. That’s when the first taser jolted him.

He didn’t doubt the reason for this torture. He was sure the guard had lost someone too. And was now blaming everything on the man who had broken the avengers.

The torture didn't end that day. It kept going. But none of them killed him. They let him suffer, keeping him alive, in confinement.

It took a long time for things to settle down again. For the torture to end. Zemo figured he could have gotten protection if he’d asked for lawyers earlier. But he never did. He let them have at it. He didn’t really care that much. What he did wish, was that someone would go all the way. But they never finished the job. He stayed alive.

And then, when things were back to normal, half of the inmates suddenly returned, turning everything on its head yet again.

***

James

James had an awful feeling this was payback for him leaving the baron the other day.

He sighed as he made his way down the last few steps and to the empty couch. He uselessly picked up the blanket and looked around. The bathroom door was open. No one was in here.

Zemo was gone.

He groaned as he strolled to the kitchen. He was about to grab the coffee pot when he realized the whole fucking pot was gone.

He heard the slide of a door and steps of bare feet.

He turned just in time to see the baron in his comfy sweatpants and cardigan.

“Ah, James.” He smiled, clearly something still in his mouth. It made one of his cheeks stretch like a little hamster. “I already started eating. I got hungry, I hope you don’t mind.”

He passed him by and reached into the fridge to grab the orange juice while James stared.

Zemo made to leave before slowing and turning around. “Are you coming?”

“Where to?”

“James, have you looked outside? The weather is beautiful this morning. We’re eating breakfast in the garden.” He nodded at him to follow. When James didn’t move, he groaned and came to grab him by his sleeve. “Come on.”

James mindlessly followed him, out onto the terrace and down to the garden, to the corner where they'd fought. The baron wasn’t lying. The sun was shining brightly over the treetops, and there wasn’t any wind, so it was pleasantly warm. In contrast to the day before, the sky was a clear bright blue.

Zemo sat himself down. He had set the outdoor table, complete with bread basket, marmalade, eggs, and all the usual baron shit.

James slowly sat down opposite him while the baron passed him the coffee pot. Together they sat there, relaxing in the nice morning, watching a group of deer pass by the edge of the forest, grazing in the field like the two of them weren’t even there.

“Alright,” Zemo finally said, once they were done with eating and the deer had left. He put his empty coffee mug down and tapped his mouth with a napkin. “Are you ready to get your hands dirty, James?”

James chuckled, leaning back on his chair. “Dirty? You wanna know how many people I’ve killed?”

“Oh I’ve read all about them, James.” Zemo smirked. “I’ve read all your files.”

“For someone who hates super soldiers, you sure sound pretty obsessed.”

Zemo shrugged casually. “Keep your friends close, your enemies closer.”

James rolled his eyes. “What do you want me to do?”

Zemo’s smile grew. “I'm glad you asked.”

***

James wasn’t surprised that the baron was enjoying himself. He wasn’t doing anything, after all. Sure, the baron had helped him clear out the area of the garden, but after lunch, it was a different story.

“And remind me why you aren’t doing this?” James asked with a smirk as Zemo handed him the shovel.

“It’s easier for you,” Zemo explained, all innocent about it. “Super soldier and all. But don't worry, I also have work to do. I’m going to make us a nice cool cocktail. Something just right for this hot weather.”

Well, what Zemo had actually meant was he’d make himself a drink.

Zemo leaned back as he watched James have at it, hacking at the earth with his shovel. He pressed it down with his foot, and heaved mud to the side, smearing sweat from his forehead. Fuck. This was more exhausting than he’d expected. With the sun shining right down on them, it was actually sweltering. It felt like they were right back to the middle of summer. Like he was back in Wakanda.

James sighed. “You want me to clear out the whole area you delimited this morning?”

“Yes, James, the whole area. Now get a move on.” Zemo sipped his limoncello spritz, crossing his legs on the lounger before glancing back down at his book.

“You’re still not going to help, are you?”

“No,” he simply said, pretending to read on.

James sighed with a low laugh as he continued, grunting at every push of the shovel. He smirked when he felt Zemo’s eyes on him. Which was pretty much the whole time. And how did James know? Because every time he glanced at the baron, he saw those eyes suddenly glance back down.

Zemo

Zemo sipped the spritz slowly, wrapping his lips around the straw as he stared at the man work away.

The way he moved, the way he was sweating, the way he grunted… Zemo had never in his life imagined being a shovel, or the ground, but here he was. The way James’s fists tightened around that handle tightened his throat. The way he shoveled away, thrusting into the earth… God.

The twitching of those arms!

Zemo quickly sipped some more of his drink. This was getting him much too flustered.

But he couldn’t stop himself from staring.

He poured himself the rest of the pitcher, taking deep breaths.

“Make sure you loosen up the soil completely,” he told James, unable to hold back from rubbing it in. “Oh, and don’t forget to make sure you remove all the weeds and roots.”

James paused as he leaned on the shovel, panting at the ground. Sweat was literally dripping from his hair. It made Zemo thirstier than he already was.

“Anything else you want me to do?”

Zemo lifted the pitcher. “Could you make me another drink?”

James laughed, shaking his head as he went back to work. “Fuck you, Zemo.”

Yes, that too, the baron only just managed to hold back from saying out loud.

James

When he was finally done turning over the soil, Zemo magically reappeared at his side, being all strategic and strict about the placement of the herbs, flowers, fruits, and vegetables.

James didn’t fight him. He just nodded along and did as he was told. He didn’t care about the plants or where they would be most aesthetically pleasing.

On the other hand, he didn’t mind the work in of itself. As a matter of fact, James had to admit that this was kind of nice. The shoveling too had been cathartic, though he was never going to admit that to the baron. It had been a satisfying way to let go of the energy that his body had in abundance. The physical exhaustion was something he knew he craved.

But sitting side by side with the baron, kneeling on the grass and planting seeds, that was something rewarding in its own way. The whole thing was calming and soothing. Zemo was right. The good tiled earth was grounding between his fingers, at least, the fingers he could feel. Things were a bit more complicated with his vibranium hand. Sand and dirt got between the plates, grinding between them, making Bucky’s teeth clench. It was the only downside of an otherwise relaxing activity.

So relaxing in fact that, as it occasionally happened while helping the baron cook, James sometimes forgot Zemo was even there next to him.

“That should have been all of them,” Zemo said as he dusted off his hands.

“They’ll all be dead by the end of the month,” James said as he got up, stretching. There was dirt smeared on his clothes, in his hair, on his face, under his fingernails, in his vibranium arm. But it felt… good, in a way.

“Don’t be so pessimistic, James. Life always finds a way.”

“Right. I’m going to go shower for half an hour. But first I gotta clear the sand from my arm.”

“Do you need help?”

“Nah, it’s fine.”

That’s what he told himself anyway, as he sat on the edge of the downstairs bathtub and scrubbed away with an old toothbrush. He groaned as he struggled with the angle. It would have been easier taking the arm off, but he needed to keep it on so that he could twist and unfold the metal plates.

“Let me help you.”

James glanced up at the baron, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. He looked a bit disheveled as well, a stray strand of hair falling over his forehead.

James sighed but let the baron sit him down next to him.

Zemo tucked the vibranium arm to him so he could start working. It awkwardly tilted James closer to him. But he didn’t mind it. He just wished he could feel those warm fingers working away so dexterously.

James watched intently as Zemo frowned in concentration, making it his mission to clear out every last speck of dirt. Crazy how focused the man was when he had a mission. Whether it was cooking a dish, mixing a cocktail, planning a garden, or taking out the avengers. It was always the same Zemo.

“Maybe next time I should wear a glove,” James found himself saying.

“Oh, yes. Maybe. Though it is no problem. I don’t mind cleaning it.”

James felt a rush of warmth reach his cheeks. What was it with Zemo and his taking care of him?

“I think we got most of it,” Zemo said, far earlier than James would have hoped.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll take the shower upstairs again, so you can knock yourself out in here,” James said as he got up. He hesitated before he nodded and made his way upstairs.

***

The music started ringing out through the house when James was halfway done changing into new clothes.

His hair was still wet as he strolled down quietly.

The sight downstairs didn’t surprise him. Zemo had put on a new vinyl and was slowly dancing to it.

James leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he watched the baron sway to the music, wine glass in one hand. He looked as much at peace as he did when he was sleeping. He looked content.

James waited for the baron to spin and realize he was there. The man jerked but managed to hold back from spilling any wine. “James.”

“I see your dancing has improved since Madripoor.”

“One adjusts to the quality of the music.”

That made James laugh.

“Do you want to dance?”

James shrugged. The baron had asked him the same thing in Madripoor too. “It’s been a while.”

A clear upgrade from his grumpy "no" back at Sharon's.

“Never too late to pick up an old habit.”

“A habit that’s almost a hundred years old?” James asked, even as he strolled closer. Zemo set his glass on the table before lifting his hand towards him.

An invitation.

James stared at his fingers for a moment. He could feel his own heart beating again. He didn’t know what he was getting into here. But the baron didn’t seem to think this odd at all.

So James stepped up to him and took his hand. “I barely remember the moves.”

“I’m sure it is like riding a bicycle.”

It was. His hands somehow remembered where to go. His feet slowly found the rhythm. It was like the other day, when the music had brought back all those random sensations. Now, all those moves were returning to him. All those girls he'd flirted with, danced with. And now here he was, the baron inches from him, gazing up at him. It felt good, doing this again.

He pushed the baron away, having him spin.

Zemo managed to fall back into his arms, but he was clearly concentrated. James figured dancing right was just another mission for him.

It was then that he noticed the baron glance down at his lips. Before stepping on Bucky’s foot.

“What was that?” James teased, glancing down. “Looks like you’re the rusty one.”

“It’s been a while for me too.”

James breathed him in. He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop himself from smiling as they slowly spun in circles. He wanted to hold the baron closer, but he couldn’t bring himself to cross that line. Still, it was getting increasingly more difficult every second.

Zemo

Even as the last song played, Zemo still couldn’t believe James had indulged him and was dancing with him now. His invitation had been the most impulsive move he'd made in a while, eased by the stupid cocktail and wine. But God, he'd never been happier about a choice. When they started, Zemo had done all he could to get everything right, but then things slowly fell into place. He relaxed in those firm arms, let James guide him. The man didn’t give himself enough credit. He was amazing at this. At leading.

Zemo could lose himself in his strength, in his smell, in his smile. Zemo's mind felt like it was physically melting as they danced, the whole world dissolving until it was just him and James. Not to mention those beautiful lips of his.

What felt like minutes after they had started, the last song faded out, the album over. The house fell quiet once more.

“That was nice,” James said before Zemo could dissolve in the awkwardness of silence. He stepped away, running a hand through his hair.

“It was,” Zemo managed, finally finding his words. “Thank you, for indulging me.”

“We should do it again sometime.”

Zemo looked up at James. He wasn't sure if he could do this a second time. Not without breaking and doing something even more impulsive than just dancing.

Chapter Text

Zemo

The crash woke Zemo with a start.

He sat up with a pounding heart, glancing about quickly. He rubbed his hand against his chest to ground himself when he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He checked the windows as his breathing slowed from the initial scare. No signs of a break in.

He dreamed of explosions often, but this was different. Zemo could tell. This had been real. The bang had woken him up.

Donning his silk bathrobe, he slowly made his way through the downstairs area, checking the perimeter, making sure all of the doors were locked.

But everything was still and quiet, a soft breeze coming in from a tilted window. No one could have come through there.

He glanced up. The dull thud may have come from upstairs. From James’ bedroom.

Indeed, as he glanced out the glass doors and towards the garden, he could make out the dim glow of that upstairs light.

Zemo took a deep breath as he flexed his hands. Going to James in such a vulnerable state was a gamble. He could lash out, push him away. But Zemo had to take the risk. He was here to help after all.

And what did he have to lose?

Ever so slowly, he trekked his way up the stairs, tying his robe shut. Unlike last time, he didn’t stop half way up. He continued to the small upstairs hallway, the floor creaking awfully loudly in the middle of the night, even as he stepped forward carefully.

There was definitely light coming from under the door to Bucky's bedroom. Zemo hesitated as he paused in front of it. He lifted his hand to the door, hovering his palm over the wood.

Then he thought better of it and pulled his hand back.

“James?” he whispered. He didn’t want to startle him.

Zemo held his breath as he waited for an answer.

When none came, he finally rapped a knuckle against the door softly. “James? I heard a—”

“It’s nothing,” Bucky growled with a raspy voice from within.

Zemo could tell he was lying. The defensive tone gave it away. “May I come in?”

A grunt was all the response he got then. If it was a warning, it wasn’t one one that Zemo decided to heed. Ever so carefully, Zemo pushed open the door.

James was sitting on the side of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands covering his face. Next to him, a small bedside table lamp was on, casting a dim orange light. It made the room feel warm. 

Zemo took note of the space. Nothing looked out of place, everything orderly. Well, perhaps except for the clothes thrown about on the floor. And the mess on the desk by the big windows. But nothing was broken on the wooden floor. Everything looked intact.

“What happened?”

James chuckled incredulously, not even lifting his head. “I said, it’s nothing.”

“Was it a nightmare?”

James growled under his breath.

Zemo knew that meant two things: that his assumption was correct, and that he was on very thin ice.

“You have a beautiful room,” he quickly said to change the subject. He wasn't lying. The place was nice and spacious, with dark hardwood floor and big windows letting in a cool breeze through deep purple curtains. Zemo turned his attention back to James. “May I have a look around?”

James groaned. “Whatever.”

I'll take that as a yes, Zemo told himself as he slowly walked into the space, noting the slight scent of lavender in the air. James had probably used every trick in the book to ward off the night terrors – clearly to no avail. Zemo felt the wood beneath his bare feet. “Is this real acacia?”

“What do you want, Zemo?”

“What do I want?” Zemo mused, leaning closer to a flower vase on the desk by the window. The plants within were dead and dry. But even withered, they looked striking in their faded colors. “You know what I want, James.” When Zemo turned, James was watching him. “Talk to me, James.”

James let out a long exhale as he turned away and fiddled with his fingers. Then he covered his face with his hands again. “A nightmare woke me. I fell from the bed.” He gestured. “That’s all.”

“Well that explains the thud,” Zemo muttered. “We’re getting somewhere.”

James gave him another dark glare. Warranted for his condescending tone.

Zemo took a deep breath, holding on to the edge of the desk to ground himself. He could sense how vulnerable James felt right now, and it was rubbing off on him, no matter how much he tried to suppress it.

“What was it about?” he asked in a more candid tone.

James leaned his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. His long hair almost hid his face completely. Zemo watched him for a moment before he dared take a few slow steps closer. Once he was next to him, he slowly sat down on the bed, delicate in his movement, trying not to startle James, as if he was a bomb that could detonate any moment.

It was there that Zemo waited for him to answer, breathing in the same air, feeling Bucky's warmth despite not even touching.

“I know I said I’d try... but… it’s hard. I don’t enjoy being like this.”

Zemo knew it would be harder to talk face to face. They both knew it. In person, it felt real. Not like some call they could just convince themselves might have simply been a dream the next morning. There was no mistaking that they were right here, right now. For James, that probably made it ten times harder to admit to the nightmares, to his own fears.

“You were the Winter Soldier, I presume,” the baron started in an attempt to help get the words flowing.

James pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing. Zemo had not expected such a strong reaction. Maybe this wasn’t such as good idea after all.

But then James slowly started, his voice soft. “I was… in a forest. I don’t know where.”

Zemo wanted to reach out, to hold his shoulder. But all the logic in his mind was screaming at him to hold back. James was emotional and he was likely going to lash out if Zemo took one wrong step now.

“What else do you remember?”

“It… It was nighttime? At least, I think so? It’s— it was hard to tell.” He sighed. “I can’t… There’s no stopping…” James sniffled. Then his voice cracked, hands rubbing his knees. “God, it just really… hurts… so much sometimes.”

Every logic in Zemo snapped. “James.” He grabbed his shirt to pull him in, wrapping his other hand around him, pulling him close. He knew this hug could be his death, but he didn’t care. Even if he was overstepping, James didn’t deserve to feel alone. Not now.

So Zemo embraced him, squeezing his eyes shut in preparation for the shove. He hit. The strangling.

But it didn’t come.

Instead of pushing him away, James only gave out a sob into his shoulder, one warm arm wrapping around Zemo as he let the tears go.

Instinctively, Zemo brought one hand up from his back to run through that long hair, to soothe him. “It’s over now, James.”

Bucky cried into his shoulder for a little while, his sudden inhales interrupting the silence in intervals as Zemo raked his fingers through his strands, trying to slow his own unsteady breaths. Ever so slowly, he calmed down in his embrace.

Any moment now. Any moment now, Zemo knew James was going to come to his senses and beat the living shit out of him for daring to touch him, let alone hold him, let alone comb his fingers through his hair like this.

Zemo inadvertently glanced towards the door, just to make sure he had it located in case he had to make a run for it.

He felt Bucky’s face press down against his collarbone, breathing him in, his hair tickling his skin. He couldn’t shake the idea that James felt safe in his arms. But he was sure the thought was just his own bias making everything rose-colored.

Zemo flinched when the metal hand rested on his side before running across his back, joining Bucky’s other hand. James was hugging him back completely now.

Zemo didn’t know what to say, if anything, his mind racing a thousand miles an hour, unable to tell what would come next. And if an outbreak was to come, when it would happen.

He simply stayed as he was, letting James dictate how long he wanted to stay in this warm embrace.

When the sniffing completely subsided, Zemo squeezed his eyes shut, prepared for the storm. But James didn’t make any sudden movements. Instead, ever so gently, he began to draw his head back, keeping close to Zemo.

The baron could feel the man’s stubble glide along his cheek as James lifted his face away from his shoulder. Zemo opened his eyes slowly, but didn’t dare look in his eyes as they came face to face, so close he could feel his exhales fan his skin.

When James pressed his forehead to his, Zemo shivered. The breaths of their shuddering inhales mingled.

Zemo slowly pulled his hands out of those long strands to cup Bucky’s cheeks and brush away the wet trails of tears.

You’re safe now, he wanted to say, but the words caught in his throat, the back of his mind urging him to move away. He couldn’t breathe like this. Couldn’t think. Every single cell in his body was begging him to close that distance. But it wasn’t right.

It wasn’t right.

Not in the state James was in now, distraught by a dream.

But they were so close… Zemo didn't know how long could he hold himself back. How long he would survive not giving in to those damned desires. Any second now, his own selfish cravings were going to boil over and be the death of him. The only thing he could smell was James for god’s sake. He licked his lips. He could almost taste him. The ache was growing in his chest, nothing he could quench for much longer -

That was when James carefully leaned in, pressing his lips to his with all the grace in the world.

Zemo’s mind blanked out while his body somehow reacted instinctively, kissing him back. But James… he was… actually… fuck. The need in Zemo’s stomach exploded, raging like a fiery beast awoken to life. But he had to keep it at bay, push it down. He was just following Bucky’s lead here.

Bucky’s lead.

Bucky’s fucking lead -

James was doing this. James wanted this.

Zemo’s head was burning, short-circuiting.

Was this a cruel joke? Was he sleepwalking? Was he in the afterlife?

James broke away for an uneven breath. This was it. Zemo was sure he was going to snap out of it, wake up from his daze, be pissed off.

Zemo tried to calm his muddled thoughts and wild emotions as his hands on Bucky’s cheeks trembled ever so slightly.

Fucking hell.

He dared a glance into those dark eyes.

James stared at him for a few seconds, keeping him on his toes, leaving Zemo to wonder what would happen next. Was James going to shove him away? Shout at him? Threaten him? Those eyes dashed between his. Did James... look hesitant?

Then those eyes darted back down to Zemo’s lips, the same way Zemo’s eyes had glanced at Bucky’s so many times in the past.

And yet it was James who had finally crossed that line.

Zemo was still struggling to grasp what had just happened when James tilted his head to the side and leaned in. Again.

But this time Zemo was prepared, closing his eyes as their lips touched.

And the kiss was heavenly. It was easier than the first, like puzzle pieces slowly falling into place. As James pulled him closer, Zemo had to do all in his power to not let out the whines that threatened to break out from the back of his throat. Gods, they were so hard to keep down. As were his hands, itching to explore. But he couldn’t risk it. Not even the slightest deviation, not the slightest movement. He couldn’t risk James stopping. Not ever.

So it was Bucky’s hand that moved first, cupping the back of his head, pressing him in. Then that vibranium hand slithered down to the front of his robe, grabbing him and pulling him in as James slowly reclined on the bed, guiding Zemo on top of him.

All of Zemo’s thoughts faded then, and all his restraint melted. His hands were suddenly moving instinctively, needing to feel, needing to touch. He ran them over Bucky's shoulders, through his hair, along his sides —

The moment their lips parted, he couldn’t stop himself letting out a desperate whine. “James...”

God, he was such a lost cause. But he needed him so fucking bad that nothing else mattered. Not the way he probably looked or sounded or —

“Shh,” was all James replied, tucking some stray hair behind Zemo's ear.

Zemo stared at him for a moment before lowering down for another taste, unable to stop himself. It was hard to keep himself in line when his whole composure was dissolving like sugar in hot water.

He still couldn't believe James was allowing him to do this. He was letting Zemo kiss him. And was fucking kissing him back too, one hand still holding the back of his head. It was glorious, it was unbelievable, it was everything.

Zemo lost count of the touches, every single one feeling like the first. And each time, he needed another reminder. Another reminder that this was real and not just some wonderful dream. Just to make sure.

When he took a moment to catch his breath, he let his hand glide down Bucky’s side. He watched his fingers slowly dive under his shirt. He traced the firm muscles he’d fantasized about for so long, felt them twitch at the soft press of his fingers. His own breathing stuttered in time with that hot skin. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

When he dared meet Bucky’s gaze again, he could only make out blown pupils looking up at him, so dark, so soft, so inviting. He couldn’t believe James had a hand in his hair, that he was gazing up at him with so much lust —

“Zemo.”

It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a warning.

It was a whisper. A prayer.

Like James was seeing him – truly, him – for the first time. Like he was looking upon something he revered. Something he desired.

Never in his whole life did Zemo think he would hear his name leave Bucky’s mouth like that.

He felt fucking weightless, his chest floating. Maybe this was what it felt like to die. Somehow, he’d found his way to heaven.

And then he was right back down on earth when Bucky’s hands started hesitantly pulling the silk tie of his nightrobe.

His breathing staggered again. He grabbed Bucky's pillow with his other hand to hold himself steady, barely noticing the outline of something underneath the fabric, though Zemo instantly recognized the shape: a gun.

Zemo's breathing hitched but he was quickly distracted as James uncoiled the belt knot, revealing his lofty shirt and shorts.

That was when James suddenly blinked and hesitated. “I—” He shook his head.

Here it was. Finally. Took him long enough. So much longer than Zemo could have ever wished for, but here it was anyway. Time for denial to enter the room, for shame to take the stage. This short fantasy had been sweet, but it was over now.

James looked from Zemo's shirt to his eyes. “I don’t know why I did that.”

He seemed... different now. His gaze was no longer desirous. Instead, he seemed almost scared, that expression as vulnerable as in Berlin. Zemo could tell James was starting to hyperventilate as he frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Zemo wanted to curse at himself for replying so fast. But then he found himself saying it again, this time with more conviction. “Don’t be. I liked it.”

Something lit up in Bucky’s eyes, like he hadn’t realized Zemo wanted this too. As if Zemo returning his kisses like he needed them to breathe hadn’t made that obvious enough.

Zemo dipped his head closer, hesitating as he hovered there for a moment. When James didn’t push him away or even move, he allowed himself to disillusion himself just one more time, kissing him slowly, tightening his hold on him when Bucky kissed him back, hands on the sides of his gown.

The moment he pulled back, Zemo knew he was a lost cause, because he’d be damned if that was their last kiss. He’d gotten a taste and he was never fucking letting that go. Life as he knew it was over for him. His craving had taken hold. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. Well, it didn’t matter, James could stop him. He was the super soldier here after all.

Super soldier… Zemo had to hold back from moaning at the thought.

What was wrong with him?

“Zemo?”

“Do you want this?” Zemo forced himself to ask in a rushed whisper.

James nodded so fast that hair strands got into his face. “Yeah.”

“And I, James.” Zemo dipped down without hesitation this time, daring to gently press his tongue into that warm mouth. And James rolled his hips upwards and opened up for him, letting him in with a little sound, letting Zemo claim him. James’ hands clutched him tighter.

The baron’s body was on fire, his rationality in ruins. He was a dead man walking for giving in to his desires with the former Winter Soldier, but he’d never been happier about risking his life. He had not a fucking thing to lose and if this was going to be the death of him, then it was the most glorious way to go.

James groaned, pulling Zemo right out of his reverie. The baron quickly leaned back to dart between his eyes. “James?”

“Zemo… are you sure?” James was frowning, sounding so in disbelief. He sounded almost as surprised as Zemo felt.

But Zemo knew what he wanted, more than anything.

“Yes.” He gently lowered himself down fully to press his weight on James. He ran his lips along his skin, down from his lips to his cheek to where Bucky’s neck met his shoulder. With all the ease in the world, Zemo ground his whole body against Bucky’s, hoping to drive the message home.

And it seemed to work, as James’ breath staggered.

Bucky lifted his the vibranium hand to slowly wrap around the baron's throat and pull him back up so Zemo was sitting up once again, now straddling him.

Zemo fought to keep in his moan as he leaned against the pressure on his throat. It was even harder to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head. He had to force himself to keep his eyes open, to keep his gaze fixed on James, so he could see the way the man was looking up at him.

Ever so slowly, James coaxed Zemo to the side and onto his back, all while he rolled on top of the baron.

Zemo swore he was going to come undone right then, right there. He held his breath, trying to keep it together. He’d prayed for this so desperately and now here he was, getting everything he’d wanted. He pressed his head back into the pillow. Now he could definitely feel the metal underneath. No wonder James couldn’t sleep.

But the thought left his brain when the hand tightened on his windpipe ever so slightly.

Zemo couldn’t breathe. And it wasn’t because of the hand.

He could only imagine what he looked like to James, gasping so desperately, making not a single attempt to pull him off, nor telling him to stop. Only writhing underneath him, gazing up at him with those wanton eyes that were just begging for him to fuck him.

“James, please.”

Bucky dipped down, but oh so slowly. He brushed his nose against his cheek, breathing him in, like he was trying to trace the outline his face.

Or mark his prey.

Zemo let him. He didn’t turn his head away, nor did he twist around to capture his lips. He let himself float in feeling James brushing his nose against him. It was like he was high. He finally let his eyes roll to the back of his head as he took in every single sensation of Bucky’s skin against his. At times it was his lips that brushed his neck, his jaw. It made him shiver.

He was drunk on the sensations by the time James pulled away to gaze down at him, to observe him like he was seeing the baron for the first time. Looking at him like a fucking work of art.

Zemo didn’t know whether to cry or to moan.

“Is this good?” James whispered.

Zemo let out a groan he didn’t know he had in him, squirming. He felt so breathless. And he’d maybe never been this impatient. “Yes. Please, James, I need you.”

Was James going to make him fucking beg for it? Pride be damned, Zemo was ready to beg.

James blinked down at him. “I didn’t know you wanted this,” he confessed quietly.

“You’re an idiot.”

The hand around his throat tightened and Zemo inadvertently let out a breathy moan.

James smirked. “I knew you liked that though.”

Fuck. “I didn’t know you wanted this,” Zemo quickly croaked back.

James dipped back down to kiss him, sucking his bottom lip, threatening to bite but not breaking skin. He leaned up to smile down at the wheezed baron. “You’re an idiot too, you know.” Ever so gently, his other hand ran down his side and hooked under the bottom of his shirt to pull up the fabric.

That’s when Zemo suddenly grabbed his wrist.

James jerked his head up. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I… James, I want this, but… it’s just…”

James leaned closer to kiss his cheek before nearing his ear. “I am going to worship every inch of you, Zemo.”

Another guttural groan slipped out of the baron. He didn’t know if he was in some heavenly sent dream but god, he prayed this was real.

Bucky's fingers hesitantly rose with the fabric again, James lifting his head to ask for permission with his eyes.

“Okay,” Zemo breathed out. He couldn't quite believe that James wanted to see him in the shape he was in. Not that he was ashamed of his body. That was not what had made him hesitate.

James pushed himself lower, closing his eyes to drop kisses along his hip. Zemo looked away as James kept pushing the fabric higher, kissing along his stomach and his chest, making his skin twitch. The touches were everything. Out of nowhere, Bucky’s tongue ran along his skin and Zemo jerked in surprise, forgetting his trepidation until James suddenly paused.

Finally found one of them, Zemo told himself, coming down from that high, anxiously glancing at his frowning face.

Just as he expected, James slowly rose up and pushed up the shirt completely to scrutinize the artwork on his skin.

“You fucking liar,” he whispered.

“James…”

“You told me no one hurt you.”

Zemo hadn't expected this. He'd expected Bucky's anger, but the way James was looking at him… he didn’t look angry at all. Maybe a bit betrayed, but mostly worried.

He couldn’t stand the intensity of the gaze. Zemo turned his head away, finding new interest in the wall. Then a warm metal hand coaxed his cheek to the side to force Zemo’s gaze back to meet those eyes.

“Zemo?”

Zemo gulped. “They’re not from the Raft, James.”

James did a double take, glancing down again with a deepening frown.

Zemo took a deep breath. “You forget that not everyone is like you, James. I will wear some of these scars forever.”

James clenched his jaw. As deep as Zemo was breathing, he could tell his whole chest was probably visible lifting and dipping. James probably could make out his ribs too, with the shape he was in.

Still, those hands found their way back onto his stomach, making him shudder.

“They hurt?” James asked quietly, thumbs softly brushing his unmarked skin.

“No,” Zemo whispered, eyes fluttering as Bucky's fingers carefully explored his healed wounds. James traced the lines on his skin, watching his own hands move, like he was following the slow brush strokes of a painting.

James exhaled before he spoke softly.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He said the words casually, like a trivial fact of no consequence. Like a simple observation. Like an everyday afterthought. Like the truth.

That was what finally broke Zemo.

Chapter Text

James

When Zemo really started crying, it was like flood gates had flung open, like a dam had collapsed. The baron’s usual smugness and smirks were suddenly shattered as he completely let all pretenses go.

James wrapped his arms around him as he lay on top of him, pushing his head into Zemo’s shoulder again as the baron convulsed in tears.

Only moments before, James had been the one breaking down, seeking comfort in Zemo’s warmth.

Now their places were switched.

Maybe we can help each other.

James tightened his hold as the baron shivered between sobs. “It’s okay, Zemo.”

Zemo’s arms quickly wrapped around him too, holding him like he was afraid he’d slip away. “I was so alone,” the baron confessed into his hair, shaking his head. “So alone.”

James shushed him, pressing to his skin. When he lifted up to gaze down at him, the baron’s eyes were glossy and red as he sniffed. James swiped his thumbs along his cheeks, brushing away the tears. And there were so many of them. “You’re not alone anymore. You’re here with me now.”

He’d had no idea what he’d been thinking, kissing Zemo. It had just… happened. He wished he could blame it on being delusional. On being crazy. Well, he probably was. But Zemo had held him, and he’d relaxed in those arms, and his body had just… done it. He’d crossed that line.

And then the baron had kissed right him back.

James wondered if this was the right timeline.

He didn’t deserve to feel so safe.

Slowly, the stuttering breaths of the baron grew deeper as he calmed.

“It’s okay now,” James reassured him.

Zemo's eyes darted between his. “I never thought I would feel this way again.”

James ran his fingers through that hair absentmindedly. “Neither did I,” he replied softly. The confession felt easy.

Zemo nodded, eyes blurring before he blinked and more tears fell.

James resumed his caressing. “It’s okay.”

New tears erupted as Zemo kept nodding, closing his eyes and turning his head away as if in shame.

But James held him close, held him through it, lowering down to run his lips along his neck soothingly, fingers combing through his hair until the sobs turned to muffled sniffs, and the baron’s breaths slowed and deepened once more.

James pulled away again to hover over him, brushing the semi-dried tears from his beautiful face a second time. All while Zemo gazed up at him.

“You’re not alone any more,” James told him.

Zemo let out a slow exhale then. “Thank you, James.”

“No,” James said. “Thank you.”

James gave him a soft kiss on his jaw, letting himself lie down next to him. When Zemo turned to him, he brought his hand back to the baron’s cheek, fingers brushing his skin, soothing both the baron and himself.

They both stared at each other for a long while. James realized he had never really seen Zemo like this. Like he was seeing him right now. Just… him. Not wearing some mask, acting a part. He just… was. It almost felt uncanny seeing the real him now. While he still was the same man James had come to know, he was also someone completely different. Both at the same time.

“Please don’t make me leave again,” Zemo whispered, gaze pleading.

James knew he meant the memorial. He quickly shook his head. “Never. I won’t let them take you, okay? Not like last time.” Zemo nodded quickly. “You trust me?” He nodded again. “I’m sorry I let you go.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“But I do blame myself. I know how it is… to be alone. I felt it too. Even surrounded by so many people…”

Zemo kept nodding, like he understood him. “When you are truly alone, you feel lonely even when you are not on your own. It is almost worse, to be in the company of those who do not understand.”

“Yeah,” James breathed out, before pulling the baron in again, nuzzling his face into his shoulder once more, like it was the one place where he felt safe from the world, from his past, even from himself.

***

James woke with a start.

Fuck.

He must have dozed off. He blinked, sitting up. The dawn was well under way. The other side of his bed was empty. Shit. Had last night really happened? Or had it just been the most wonderful dream he’d ever had?

The memories came flooding back slowly, all those emotions. The touches. The kisses. No… it had to have been real, right?

James frowned, running his hand over the ruffled mattress.

Last night hadn’t been a dream.

No way.

Without bothering to get changed, he hurried down the stairs. “Zemo?”

He dashed to the couch. No baron lying in it. Just the blanket was on it, folded neatly. No trace of Zemo.

James hurried into the kitchen and then the bathroom, feeling his heart slowly drop in his chest. “Zemo!”

Cursing out loud, he hurried out onto the terrace.

He came to a sudden stop when he saw him. The baron was dressed, standing right in front of the red line, monitor fitted to his ankle.

Zemo was one step away from crossing the line. And he was looking down at it, like he was hesitating before taking the leap into the void.

“Don’t you dare,” James cursed as he jumped over the terrace railing and raced over the grass.

He was so fast that Zemo barely had the time to turn when James grabbed him by the coat and jerked him back. His yank was so hard that he knocked Zemo right down onto the ground. The baron rolled onto his hands and knees before quickly staggering up. He looked sad. “James?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” James snarled, coming at him. Before Zemo could react, he grabbed his collar and pushed him back towards the house, making him stagger as James forced him to stumble backwards.

“James…” Zemo grabbed his hands but James kept his hold on the baron.

“Can’t I just have one good thing?”

Zemo struggled in his hold. “Stop it, James!” he snapped suddenly, vicious. “I took advantage of you!”

James stopped in his tracks just as fast, fists still holding the stupid fur. The fuck was he on about? “What do you mean, took advantage of me?”

“I shouldn’t have come, James,” Zemo continued, ignoring his question. He seemed to have thought this through, given his expression. “I can’t help you. I’m too invested, emotionally.”

“Zemo, I swear to god—”

“You were vulnerable, last night,” Zemo explained quickly. “And I used that against you.”

“Used that against me?” James repeated with a frown. If anyone, Zemo had been the vulnerable one. He started pushing him back again until the baron smacked against the wall of the house, so hard that Zemo gasped in surprise. He deserved that.

“I crossed a line, James,” he continued, albeit flustered. “And I used you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Is it? You were exhausted, panic-stricken, and I used that selfishly as a means to an arrogant end. Again. I shouldn’t have kissed you, James, I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one who kissed you.”

“You weren’t yourself. You were in distress.”

James pulled him in and then smacked him right back against the wall again. Zemo inhaled sharply. “I was in distress? That’s big coming from the guy who broke down in tears.”

“I don’t know what came over me.”

“Yeah well I do. You need to stop lying.” Zemo shuddered at that. “And I was still myself, you idiot,” he snarled, closer now. “If anything, I took advantage of you.”

Zemo glared up at him. “How?”

“I don’t know,” James started, sarcasm dripping from his voice, “maybe you felt pressured to go along with it so that you wouldn’t be sent back? Or because you didn’t want to have to turn me down? Maybe you didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Maybe you were scared of what I’d do if you said no.”

“That’s outrageous.”

“Yeah, have a look in the mirror, Helmut. That's what you sound like right now.” James watched as Zemo’s eyes flicked down to his lips. The guy really couldn’t help himself, could he? “So what was the plan? To step over the line with your monitor and get them to take you back? You were the one begging me not to send you back last night.”

“This is about helping you, not about me getting what I want.”

James suddenly came forward, hovering just inches away, almost closing the distance, breathing onto the baron’s mouth. “And what is it that you want, exactly?”

Zemo gasped, clearly trying to hold back from tilting up to meet his lips. But then he shifted on his feet, regaining some composure. “James… this isn’t about me.”

He was a fucking hypocrite, lying his face off, trying to find all these excuses. Why? Because he thought he didn't deserve this? If that was the case, then they were truly be more alike than James thought.

“Enough with your bullshit, Zemo. I’m going to need you to be completely honest with me, okay? You promised you would be, right?”

Zemo hesitated before slowly nodding. 

“Do you want me?”

Zemo gazed up at him, breaths shallow. After a moment, he finally gave him a little nod. If James hadn’t known better, he would have guessed Zemo was shy.

“I’m going to need more than that, Helmut.”

Zemo frowned up at him like he was pouting. But then he gave in again. “Yes,” he finally confessed, glancing away.

“Yes what?”

This time Zemo glanced at his lips, his cheeks turning pink, his voice almost pleading as he met Bucky's gaze. “Yes, I want you, James.”

Zemo

The moment the words left his mouth, James grabbed his collar and kissed him so hard Zemo’s head knocked back against the brick wall.

When he saw stars, he wasn’t sure if it was from the kiss or possible concussion. All he knew was that his mind was buzzing, the world tilting. When James finally pulled back, he had to heave air to breathe.

James was looking at him with raised eyebrows. “Do I look vulnerable to you right now?”

“I don’t know I—”

James didn’t let him finish his sentence, cupping the back of his head and kissing him again.

Zemo rose his hands to cup Bucky’s cheeks, lifting on his toes, pulling him closer.

Bucky spent a while kissing him hard on the mouth before moving on to his cheek, then down to his neck, kissing his skin before sucking, hard. Zemo winced, hands wrapped around him. “James…” he warned.

He hummed against his neck before running his lips along his skin again. Zemo's eyes fluttered at the touch.

“Don’t stop, please.”

James chuckled against him. “I don’t take orders from you.” Still, he dropped kisses against his neck and then moved down to his collarbone.

Zemo watched as he slowly lowered himself onto one knee. Zemo's mind short-circuited before he suddenly came to his senses.

“James?” he blurted out.

Just as the metal hand grabbed his belt, a rumbling vibration started humming through the air. The telltale sound of a hovercraft. Zemo’s heart dropped. Shit.

James glared up at him in disbelief. “Did you fucking cross the line?”

“No!” He was pretty sure. Right? Right?!

James frowned. Then his eyes went wide. “Shit. What day is it?”

“Yesterday, was, um…” Fuck it was so hard to think. James was kneeling in front of him, one hand on his belt, his eyes gazing up… fuck… “Saturday, so today… S- Sunday I think?” Then it hit him. “Oh.”

“Shit.” Bucky hurried to a stand, quickly running his hands through Zemo’s hair, combing through it. Then he went through his own hair. “Do I look okay?”

‘Okay’ is the understatement of the year, Zemo thought. But all he could do was nod.

Without delay, Bucky grabbed him and pulled him into the house, just as the craft appeared through the clouds and made to land out on the field.

***

“Sorry for coming so early unannounced,” Sam said with a smile as he and James hugged. “I thought I’d bring by some stuff for pancakes. Figured you could use a nice breakfast once in a while.” His gaze found Zemo. “I see the troublemaker is still alive.”

Zemo gave him a nod, trying to ignore Bucky’s glance. “Good to see you too, Sam.” Zemo knew if he returned Bucky’s look, he’d burst into flames.

“Um,” James started, scratching his head. “I’ll go up and get changed then. In the meantime, please don’t kill each other.”

Great. Just leave me here alone with Sam after… Fuck. He couldn’t think back to James being on his knees, otherwise he was going to pass out.

“I’ll try my very best,” Sam said as he deposited his bag on the kitchen counter.

With that, James left to hurry up the stairs. Zemo exhaled once he was gone. Sam wasn’t the one who was going to kill him.

“You okay?” Sam’s voice was distant as he looked around for a pan.

Zemo blinked, turning his attention to the new Captain America. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine,” Sam huffed. “What, this hotel not up to your standards?”

Zemo barely heard his words, his thoughts inevitably winding back to the night. Back to just now, the way James had held him, kissed him. He gulped down his shiver at the memory alone. If Sam noticed him getting flustered... if Sam started getting ideas, then he knew for sure Sam was actually going to kill him.

“I’ll make some coffee,” he said mindlessly. He needed to get his mind off… everything. He had to get something to do.

“Woah,” Sam gasped. Zemo turned to him. Sam had opened up the fridge. “What happened in here? Did Gordon Ramsay move in here or something?”

“I ordered some things so I could cook,” Zemo explained.

Sam gave him a look. “You’re cooking for Buck?”

“Of course.”

“Right, I remember Riga,” he said with a little chuckle, grabbing the milk. “Looks like we had the same idea.” He glanced at him. “I do have to say, if this is some kind of psychological manipulation, then you’re doing a pretty good job.”

“Thank you,” Zemo replied.

“That was sarcasm.”

“I know.”

Sam shook his head in slight amusement as he started putting the ingredients together. The coffee machine had sprung to life too, the smell starting to waft through the kitchen. Zemo allowed himself to already sip some of the hot beverage.

“So, you and Bucky getting along alright?”

Zemo almost spit out his coffee. He quickly cleared his throat. “Better than you and I,” he said.

“Yeah, no shit.” Sam cleaned his hands before moving to the counter. He dug around in his bag. “James made me promise to bring you this.” He pulled out a little tin box. Zemo almost dropped his mug. He forced himself to gently place it away, even if his hands had started shaking. He recognized that box. “Got in contact with that butler of yours. He said it was yours.”

Sam held it out.

“Thank you,” Zemo said quietly, slowly and carefully gripping the box, like Sam might snap it back. But he didn’t. He let it go, letting Zemo take it. The baron looked down at it, at the family crest, etched on the silver.

James reappeared then with a big sigh, slowing as Zemo’s gaze met his. His eyes darted to the box. “You okay?”

Zemo gave him a quick nod, his throat too painfully tight to speak.

Sam turned to James, nodding at the fridge. “I see Zemo’s been treating you well.”

James was still looking at Zemo with an indecipherable expression. “Yeah. I guess so. It’s nice. For both of us.”

“Is it helping the nightmares?” Sam asked sarcastically, clearly prepared for James to answer ‘no’.

“Yeah, it is,” James answered instead, without missing a beat.

That got Sam to do a double take before he found his way back to words. “Good to hear. So, pancakes?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Zemo stepped back as the two of them got to work. James glanced at him, meeting his gaze for a split second before turning his attention to the stove as butter started sizzling in the pan.

Something told the baron James was blushing.

As the two of them chatted away, Zemo slowly walked his way to the living room, box in hand. He ran his fingers along the intricate design, feeling it, making sure it was real. He placed it on the coffee table and sat down on the couch. He bit his thumbnail as he stared at it. He knew a whirlwind of emotion would meet him if he opened it. Like Pandora’s box, opening it might do more harm than good. And yet still, he wanted to open it, to gaze upon their faces once more.

“Zemo?” Zemo turned to see James at the corner of the kitchen. “I was wondering where you’d gone.”

Somewhere far away, James. And long ago.

“I’m right here,” he said quietly, looking back at the box before turning back to James.

Bucky glanced in Sam’s direction before coming closer. “Join us.”

Zemo made a face and tilted his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, James. Sam hates me.”

“It’s not going to get any better if you stay away.”

Zemo glanced at the box again.

He shivered when a warm hand touched his shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” Zemo breathed out.

“Sam didn’t threaten you, did he?”

“No. He brought…” Zemo motioned, “the box. He brought…”

“The memorabilia I asked him to bring. Ah okay,” James loudly exhaled, relaxing. “You gonna open it?”

Zemo thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. “Not now.”

“Okay then. Come on.” James grabbed his arm, hauling him up and around the sofa, pulling him towards the kitchen. When Zemo suddenly halted in his tracks, James stopped, hesitating. “You okay?”

Zemo looked up at him. “Thank you for this, James.”

James glanced towards the kitchen before stepping closer. “Of course. It’s nothing, Zemo. If you ever need anything, you just let me know, okay?”

Being so close to him, inches away... Zemo felt tempted to kiss him again, even with Sam just around the corner, a few footsteps away. He could see it in James’ eyes too. The longing, the hesitation. “We should go help Sam,” he finally said.

James nodded with a smile. “We should.”

Chapter Text

Zemo

Sam acted surprisingly relaxed as he cooked together with James, all while Zemo prepped the fresh fruit. The two of them spoke. A lot. Zemo tried to fade into the background, doing his own little tasks, but James’ gaze always found its way to him. Like he was trying to remember what he looked like. Or he wanted to make sure that he was still there. Every time, a small smile appeared on his lips when he looked away again.

After Sam had filled a first plate with a pile of pancakes, James turned to him for the tenth time. “Pass me the next plate?”

Zemo did as he asked, their fingers brushing for a split second. Enough to get his heart racing.

They glanced at each other before quickly glancing away, taking a deep breath. They were both lost causes, there was no denying that. Zemo didn’t think he would ever be caught in such a deluge of feelings again, but here he was, having the most cliché crush on the one person —

“Right,” Sam grunted as James helped him with the third place. “I’m starving, come on.”

With that, Sam led the way to the dining room table. Zemo used the moment of Sam's absence to quickly brush his knuckles against Bucky’s hand.

Zemo literally heard Bucky's sudden intake of breath. James glared at him, mouthing “cut it out.”

“Sorry,” Zemo mumbled back, but he was smiling, and not sorry at all.

James sat down next to Sam, Zemo next to James, and they began to eat. Sam seemed in a much better mood now. Despite feeling a small bit wary, like last time, things didn’t feel as tense. Maybe because James was still alive and well. And because he himself hadn’t run off.

Whatever it was, Zemo could only hope it would get better.

His mind was about to wander, with those two chatting, when James glanced at him with a smile. Zemo was right back, smiling at those flickering eyes. But then Bucky’s eyes flickered downwards and Zemo noticed his suddenly widening eyes.

“What?” Zemo mouthed.

James inconspicuously put his hand to his own neck, tapping it where Sam couldn’t see. What was that supposed to mean? Was that some secret code for something?

Zemo tilted his head in confusion.

“So anyways, that’s what we did,” Sam continued, focused on eating.

“Ah, really?” James said, chuckling nervously as he quickly sipped his drink.

“Yeah. The mission was a mess from beginning to end, that much I think I can tell you.”

James quickly glared at Zemo again. He pointed at his own neck before quickly pointing at his before Sam noticed.

Instinctively, Zemo brought his hand to— oh. Oh. Okay. Yeah, this wasn’t great.

He rubbed the spot on his skin. “Excuse me,” he said quietly as he stood.

Of course, that got Sam’s full attention. The man instantly glanced up. “You okay?”

“Just a bit chilly.”

He pretended to scratch his neck to have a pretense of his hand covering it. “I’ll just put on something warmer.”

“He’s really sensitive,” James said, flinching just as quickly. Probably at the double meaning. Oh for fuck’s sake. Without waiting another moment to bathe in the awkwardness, Zemo rushed to the bathroom. He went right to the mirror to have a closer look. Fuck. As he suspected. A clear red spot. Zemo gripped the sink, closing his eyes as he let the feelings rush through him. Memories, of James on his knees. Of his mouth... James really didn’t hold back. Zemo gulped as he gripped the sink tighter. He wasn’t afraid of him being rough. If anything, he preferred it… Fuck.

He couldn’t let himself lose himself in fantasies right now. He had to hold it together. At least until Sam was gone.

Then…

The possibilities were endless. James could choke him. Kiss him. Put him in his place. Zemo’s mind was spinning. The room was spinning.

He pulled off his shirt, splashed ice cold water on his face, then donned the turtleneck. One last deep breath, and he hurried back out, the dizziness from his fantasies still lingering in the back of his mind. Dormant, but still there. Still very much there.

James

James tried not to let his nervousness show as he waited for the baron to return. He exhaled when he was finally back, in that purple turtleneck. Right. Sorted that out.

They were both utter idiots. And so damn lucky Sam hadn’t noticed.

James tried to calm his nerves and distract himself from the memories of the morning as they ate and talked. About Sam’s family, about the state of the world, about vague mission anecdotes. James relaxed as he listened to Sam’s stories, though he was careful not to fall into the trap of leaning too close to Zemo or turning to him just to inhale his scent. It was weird how there was this itch in the back of his mind to just... get closer. But James had to stay concentrated. Not here. Not now.

***

When they were finally done with eating, Sam leaned back and sighed.

“So,” he started, nodding towards the coffee table.“What’s in the box?”

Zemo and James exchanged a look. James was right back in Riga, when the Dora Milaje had come. It was the same fleeting glance.

“Was I not supposed to ask?” Sam asked warily. He’d clearly noticed the shift in the air.

“No, it’s alright,” Zemo said then, to James’ surprise. He watched as the baron slowly got up and moved to the table, picking up the box. James could see him hesitate, running his thumb over it before taking a deep breath and turning back to them. He pulled a chair to sit himself between Sam and James this time. A bold choice.

He set the box on the table, inhaling deeply once more.

“There better not be a bomb in there,” Sam started, “I swear to God.”

“Sam,” James chided.

“What?”

Zemo seemed not to take note of their bickering as he slowly opened the tin.

James’ throat tightened as he leaned closer, holding his breath as his eyes darted over the photographs.

“These are lovely pictures,” James found himself saying immediately. Zemo inhaled at his words. It was true. They were lovely. They were piled on top of each other haphazardly, but from what James could see, they were lovely. Family pictures. But not the official portrait kind. The in-the-moment-home-camera kind of photos.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Sam said when he noticed. He glanced at James. “I didn’t know.”

“Well you could have guessed,” James whispered back, just as Zemo got one of the them out, staring at it. “We should get some frames for these — if you want,” he quickly added. But Zemo seemed lost in the past, analyzing his family portrait like he was committing it to memory. Then, with another deep breath, he passed it to James.

“You sure?”

Zemo did not hesitate. “Yes.”

“Thank you.” James took it delicately, careful not to damage it in any way. This one was from an analogue camera. They were at some sort of beach, a younger more vibrant version of Zemo with his arms around the shoulders of a woman who could only be Heike. And their son, giving the camera a little snarky smile. Like father like son, he supposed.

The emotions bubbled up unexpectedly. James covered his mouth, gulping to keep it in. He couldn’t break down now. Zemo was the one who had lost them.

He handed the picture back to Zemo, trying to steady his breath. To his surprise, Zemo continued to pass it on to Sam.

Sam looked uncomfortable, but he slowly accepted it. “Your family.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Sam said. It would have sounded impersonal, but James could tell there was genuineness behind it. Regret maybe. And maybe also an apology for always being so hard on him.

Zemo sighed. “It was now quite some time ago.”

James’ hand found Zemo’s leg under the table to rest on it, a motion he hoped came across as reassuring. Just as fast, Zemo covered his hand with his own. James pulled away then, but Zemo held on to his hand. James hesitated. They exchanged glances. Then James wrapped his fingers around Zemo’s, the two of them discreetly holding hands under the table.

“It was grief,” Zemo started, in his usual diplomatic voice, “that pushed me to my limits, with the avengers.” He sighed as Sam gave him back the photo. “I thought I had only anger left in me. Revulsion, hatred, revenge. That there was nothing else my soul or heart could ever feel.”

“But you feel differently now,” Sam continued for him, tone already skeptical.

“I do.” He smiled as he placed the picture back in the tin. He slowly pulled away from James’ touch to close the box with both hands. “I found that there is still space for more.” He clicked it shut.

“Like what?” Now he really sounded suspicious.

Zemo shrugged with a coy smirk. “Hope, joy, passion…” he glanced at James. James knew one last word was on the tip of his tongue. He almost wanted to say it for him. But they both knew they could not speak now. Not with Sam right there. They had to stay silent.

“I hope Buck feels the same way after all this is over,” Sam muttered.

“I hope he will too,” Zemo said, even as he was still staring at James.

James spoke then. “So it gets better?”

“We both are dealing with different things, so it is difficult to say. I can only speak for my grief. And grief is unpredictable. The pain comes and goes.”

“And how is it now?”

“Today?” A smile found its way back on his lips. “Today is a good day. A very good day.” Zemo’s eyes glittered as he gazed at him. For one crazy moment, James through he was going to kiss him, right there, right then.

Instead, he got up with a polite nod to place the box away.

Sam groaned. “I feel like I’m going to be thinking about this conversation the whole flight back home. This guy is gonna be on my mind more than I’d like him to be.”

“You and me both,” James let slip out before he could stop himself. Zemo was just placing the box in the bookshelf. He hoped the baron hadn’t heard him. “I mean, you know, because he lives here.”

“Yeah, you have to deal with him 24/7. Still surviving?”

“Barely,” James said with a little chuckle, letting himself lean on his hand, elbow on the table.

Sam shook his head with a smile. “You know, I didn’t use to see you crack jokes that easily. Or smile like that. You feel warmer. Like you did, in Louisiana.”

“Thanks man.”

“It’s not a compliment. It’s a fact, Buck.”

“What is?” Zemo asked as he came back, sitting down next to James again.

“Nothing,” James muttered, although he couldn’t help his smile. If Sam only knew why he was actually doing better. Inadvertently, his eyes dashed down to the baron’s lips. Lips which curled up slightly as he watched them. It was clear Zemo knew James was looking.

Then, as if by some miracle, Zemo asked Sam some more about his week, and Sam actually replied without making a fuss. Like a normal human. Somehow, they managed to converse in a civil way, and not like they were moments away from killing each other.

If only Sam knew everything… It felt odd, keeping this from him. Back in Berlin, he’d kept his fascination with the baron a secret too, making excuses to justify helping him break out of prison. But this felt different. This was so much more.

And yet, they simply couldn’t risk telling him. A secret like this between them wasn’t great, but what choice did they have? If Sam found out— well, he’d throw a fit, that was for sure. The main question was whether he was going to get Zemo ordered away, if he thought this was all some manipulation game on Zemo’s end. He could already imagine his words: “It’s for your own good, Buck” and “It’ll pass” and “He was just using you.” Bucky didn’t know if he could take it, being separated from Zemo, being alone again.

“You okay Bucky?” Sam asked, bringing him back.

“Yeah,” he replied mindlessly, though he didn’t fail to notice Zemo’s glance. “What were you saying?”

“I was asking about your plans for the week.”

“Plans…” James sighed, glancing at the baron for help, but he only lifted his eyebrows. “I dunno.”

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, Buck. I can’t imagine how boring it can get out here.” He glanced out the window. “It’s supposed to be getting colder too. Then you’ll be forced to stay cooped up in here too.”

James steadied his breathing. He couldn’t even imagine spending winter days here, in the cold and in the dark. At least he had the baron. Well, hopefully he’d still be there then. The future was so fucking uncertain —

A foot nudged his own. His heart skipped a beat. He forced himself to speak. “We’ll think of ways to pass the time.” It’s all there is to do anyway.

“Zemo may be a psychopath, but at least he’s kept you occupied.”

James gulped to keep down the blush. “What do you mean?”

Sam gave him a look. “He was just talking about all the things you've been up to. Buck, where were you?” A leg pressed against his.

He gulped again, his throat dry. “Nowhere, just… tired.”

“Rough night?”

James coughed into his hand before taking a long gulp of water. He could feel Zemo’s eyes piercing him. “T’alright. What were you saying, before?”

Sam sighed. “We were talking about the garden, the cooking, the record player.” James froze. Had Zemo told him about the dancing? He hadn’t, right? “He actually has some good ideas, you know. Maybe he’s not that bad after all.”

“He’s not,” James said then.

“Remember what you used to write me every time I messaged you, before Zemo came here? You only had one answer to my question, about what you were up to, or what you were doing, or what your plans were.”

James took a deep breath. He knew it all too well. He nodded with a frown. “Nothing.”

“That’s right, nothing. Always nothing. No plans. Nada. At least now you have something to do.”

Something to do.

To do.

James cleared his throat when a soft hand rested on his thigh. He felt like he was drowning. But it was an oddly good feeling. He clenched his fist on the table. “Yeah.”

Something to do...

Zemo was brushing his thumb over his leg. It made his pulse pound in his ears.

Someone...

***

By the time Sam was at the door, James’ heart was racing. He was supposed to be relaxing, seeing as he wouldn’t need to pretend that everything was fine once Sam was gone. But all he felt was a rising tension in his chest, terrified of being left alone with the devil incarnate. Sam was the only thing between him and losing his damn mind. He had no idea what would happen once he was gone.

“You actually do look good, Buck,” Sam told him as he lingered on the porch. “Don’t let the guy give you any shit. Any sign of anything devious-”

“I’ll let you know. Yes. I promise.”

Sam didn’t look convinced, but still nodded. “Alright.” He gave James a warm hug. Then he glanced at Zemo. “Don’t even look at me like that, you’re not getting a hug from me.”

“Give it a few weeks,” Zemo dared retort.

Sam sighed in desperation. He turned back to James. “See you next Sunday.”

“Yeah,” James leaned against the door frame as he watched him leave. The air got heavier, harder to breath as Sam stepped into the craft, as James closed the door. As he stood there, alone, once more, with baron Zemo.

Chapter Text

James

James closed the door, the baron leaning against the wall right between the door and the window, watching him intently. The smirk he'd given Sam was wiped from his face, replaced with almost apprehension. He was pressing his hands against the wall behind his back, as if to keep them from reaching out.

Ignoring him, James turned to look outside, grabbing the curtain with his vibranium hand to watch the craft slowly begin wobbling into the air. “That was so fucking close,” he cursed under his breath.

Zemo inhaled deeply. “James… we can’t…” He cleared his throat. “I should leave…”

“Shh.” James absentmindedly motioned at him to shut up, pressing his hand to the baron's chest, his eyes still on the hovercraft.

“We both know I can’t stay here. For your own good.”

“Shut up, Zemo,” James grunted. His throat was getting dry. The craft was lifting higher.

Of course, the baron couldn’t keep his mouth shut for two damn seconds. “Before we do anything rash…” Zemo cleared his throat. He gently held on to James’ wrist and slowly tucked his arm down. “Let us... try and remember to heed our rationale rather than our emotions.”

James would have lashed out at his condescending tone, but he was too busy watching the craft finally disappear in the clouds. He blinked, heart beating violently against his ribs. He was in fight or flight mode now, every inch of his body on high alert. He could feel Zemo’s fingers around his arm, still holding him. It was only then that Zemo's words registered.

Heed our rationale.

How could Zemo even dare talk about rationality with his touch still lingering? Not that it mattered. There no speck of rationality left in Bucky’s head anyway. James was losing it, drowning in this overwhelming storm inside of him, growing ever since he’d closed that damn door. And now, with Sam gone, the tempest inside his chest had risen to levels James couldn’t even begin to quantify.

This was the way he’d felt when Zemo had first arrived. Only now, it was so much worse. Now that they’d broken the tension once, keeping his distance was damn near impossible. James was fighting every cell in his body not to jump Zemo. But he couldn’t allow himself to. Because it wasn’t right, and he couldn’t do this to the baron. He had to hold back. He didn’t want to back him into a corner or go too far. Maybe it would have been better if Zemo had crossed the line in the garden after all. Then Zemo’s fate would no longer have been in James’ hands. The choice would have been taken from him, and he could have continued to wither away and be miserable in peace. Instead of...

“I don’t know if I can do this,” James admitted, still glaring out the window.

“That is what I am trying to say, James… it is best if we stop this here, now, before... It’s not worth the —” Zemo’s words cut short the moment James found his gaze. Zemo closed his open mouth, gulping.

“Worth the risk?” James asked, eyes glancing down at his lips. His gaze softened then, mouth slightly agape. What risk did Zemo mean? The risk of Sam finding out? The physical risk? The emotional risk? His gaze moved to Zemo’s hand, still holding his arm.

Heed our rationale, my ass.

“James.” Zemo squeezed him, as if to reassure him. James leaned closer and the baron’s breathing hitched. He shook his head, eyes darting away. “You deserve… more. Better,” he said, even as James felt him trace his fingers up his arm. James wanted to scold Zemo. Tell him to stop. But he couldn’t. He felt drunk on the touch. The hand ran higher, up to his shoulder. Almost like the baron was testing the firmness of his muscles, outlining the shape of his arm.

“Even if I want this?”

“Sometimes what we want is not what we need.” James stepped up to him, so close that their breaths mingled. Zemo inhaled sharply, those eyes darting down to his lips again. “This isn’t part of the parole agreement.”

James dipped his head lower. “I know.”

“So you agree. We shouldn’t…” Zemo’s hand absentmindedly traced up his neck, James leaning into the touch, eyes fluttering.

“Yeah. You’re right,” he said quietly as the baron’s hand cupped his cheek, “we shouldn’t.” He turned to kiss his palm and Zemo shivered.

“We should stop,” the baron croaked, “before we do anything...”

“Rash?” James continued for him, even as he leaned in. Zemo tilted his head up to meet his lips in a deep kiss. The baron moaned into it, arms easily wrapping around Bucky’s neck while James held his waist. God, he couldn’t even begin to describe this heavenly feeling. He was light as a feather, floating, a rush of warmth surging through him.

Then he snapped out of it, leaning his forehead against the baron’s, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. Shit. Wrong move. Wrong wrong wrong. “No. You’re right. We can’t do this... This isn’t…”

“This isn’t sensible,” Zemo completed his thoughts with a little sigh. “We need to stop.”

James shook his head, agreeing with him as he held the sides of the baron's head. “Yeah, we can’t —” James pulled him close and dove in with another open-mouthed kiss. Zemo groaned against him, bulking his hips up, one leg somehow trying to hook around his waist. James pulled back to catch his breath, one hand leaning against the wall, caging in the baron.

Fuck.

“If we… just once…?” Zemo whispered, tentatively.

James nodded quickly, hand tracing his cheek. “Just once.” He exhaled. “And we take it slow...”

“Slow, yes,” Zemo murmured, before tilting up to him again. He kissed Bucky with determination, rhythmically swirling his tongue into his ready mouth. Every dive made James’ heart gallop faster.

“Yeah,” he managed between kisses, “probably,” another one, “slow- oh god.”

He grabbed the baron and swung him around, forcing him back until he hit the table. He heaved the baron onto it, Zemo’s legs completely wrapping around him now. James pressed into him as Zemo kept up the tempo, lapping at his mouth like he was starving.

James held on to the side of the table for leverage, his metal fist crushing the wood until it suddenly cracked, a piece of the table snapping off. “Fuck,” he cursed as he let the table go to hold the back of the baron’s head instead, pulling him closer to dive deeper, trying to claim more of him.

He was going to completely lose it. Lose control of himself. Maybe it was already too late. God knew he was breathing too fast, and his thoughts were racing a hundred miles an hour, and his whole body was on fire. He felt like he could fight an army of a million soldiers. “I can’t stop… I’m too...”

Fired up? Exhilarated? Dizzy? Turned on?

“I can’t… I can’t stop either,” Zemo confessed.

James grabbed him hard by the turtleneck, tilting his head and pressing to him, making out with him again, like he was trying to consume the baron. He pulled Zemo’s tongue into his mouth, sucking on it desperately. The baron moaned into him.

When Zemo drew back to breathe, he held James as close as he could, pressing his mouth to Bucky’s ear. “I need you to fuck me, James,” he suddenly whined, all desperate, squirming against him.

James grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. Zemo gasped but James cut him off with another deep kiss, heaving him off the table at the same time. He carried him across the room and dropped him on the sofa. He barely gave the baron time to adjust when he crawled on to top of him, kissed him hard again, fast, devouring him, and Zemo let him, sucking his soul out of his body with his tongue. “You said wanted to leave.” He ground his body to Zemo's just to tease him, the friction between them and their clothes intoxicating.

Zemo groaned. “Please, James.”

“You were saying we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“We shouldn’t. Please,” Zemo’s breath hitched as he whined. His eyes darted between his, on hand clenching his collar. He was already sweating. “I can’t control myself when I’m with you.”

“Neither can I.” James kissed him again, feeling the same way he’d felt every single time he’d kissed him since the fateful evening, just the night before. The touch never got old. The spark never dimmed. Zemo’s lips made his stomach flutter every fucking time.

“Just…” Zemo panted, “this once – then… I’ll go.”

“No,” James chuckled, already slightly out of breath. He racked his hands through that hair. “You’re not leaving until I’m done with you.”

Zemo huffed. “Fair.”

The kisses became wilder then, the grips harder, faster, more possessive, hopefully leaving traces. James kept erratically writhing on top of Zemo, his body jerking instinctively.

“You’re killing me, James,” Zemo moaned, drops of sweat rolling down from his eyes. Or maybe they were tears. James wasn’t sure.

He couldn’t help his smile of satisfaction. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Zemo gave a heated chuckle before grabbing James by his shirt and pulling him back in, like he needed his lips to breathe. And it felt just like that, every kiss like a breath of fresh air. Bucky’s body was aflame, every kiss and thrust more gasoline. And Zemo’s hips kept pressing up, grinding against his in dire search for even more friction.

“You’re insane.”

“And you’re the one torturing me, James. Please.” Zemo could barely catch his breath. “Have mercy. Or kill me, please.”

James lowered his vibranium hand and grabbed Zemo hard between his legs. The baron let out the lewdest cry James had heard in his long life. He arched his back into it, eyes fluttering, muttering Sokovian nonsense. The sight of it made James fervid. He was losing his mind, all reason melting away, his brain chemistry rearranging. The sight sparked something to life inside of him. It felt like he was finally awake, after years of cryo.

Cryo...

James hesitated then, suddenly, at the realization. His heart jumped out of his chest. “I haven’t…”

Zemo breathed heavily as he frowned, still gripping him desperately, body still instinctively bulking up into his hand. “You’ve never…?”

“No, I mean...” He forced a deep breath. “Not since…” The rest lingered in the air, but he knew Zemo knew what he meant. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You never could.” Zemo breathed out. Then he groaned and wiggled as he smirked his mischievous smile, glancing down at the vibranium grasp. “But you can try if you want.”

Despite himself, James chuckled then. He let him go, pressing his face into Zemo’s neck. “I can’t believe we’re doing this…” he whispered.

“Neither can I,” Zemo replied. Unlike James’ nervous disbelief, Zemo’s disbelief sounded eager, keen, excited. And he acted on it too, bucking up again with new vigor, like he was goading James into really giving him everything.

James lost no time in cupping both of the baron’s cheeks, tilting his head up softly. That seemed to take the baron by surprise, his motions pausing momentarily. James smiled down at him. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want you to feel good, Zemo.”

He kissed him slowly then, holding himself back to make the most of this small moment.

Zemo melted into his touch, whimpering at the sudden change in pace – probably still impatient.

“I don’t know if I’ll lose control of myself,” James told him quietly.

“It's okay. You can lose control,” Zemo replied just as fast, his words doing something to James. Maybe because it felt like permission.

Instincts took over as James resumed his rhythmic grinding, capturing his lips with a new intensity. As all logic dissolved, he knew it was over for him. He was on fucking fire. “Zemo, I need...” He barely managed to string two words together. “I need you to be sure about this.” He felt delirious, drunk on the baron’s touch, on feeling his heat, on hearing his little huffs and groans.

“Fucking hell, James. Yes. Please,” Zemo panted. “I’ll beg for it if I have to. If you want me to.”

James didn’t need more than that. He made quick work of pulling Zemo’s shirt over his head, making sure not to rip it. He threw it on the floor and dove in again, faster this time, Zemo wrapping around him as tight as he could. James could feel his body becoming greedy, tongues fighting for the high ground, until Zemo forced him around and on his back, the baron now on top of him.

Zemo pulled him up by his collar so that James sat in the middle of the couch, the baron straddling him as he rolled his hips like he’d been taken by madness before distracting James from the sight with more kisses. The lewd sounds of their mouths and the gasping and groaning filled the air and kept heating up the room. James ran his hands over the baron's hot skin, feeling the muscles work.

Zemo's own hands made to pull Bucky’s shirt off then, the motion an order rather than suggestion. James didn't stop him. He helped him out before going back to work. His lips were already throbbing but he'd barely satiated this craving. Now Zemo's hands found his belt, the motion making James' breathing hitch. The baron attempted to unclasp the buckle in a frenzy, his delusional neediness and impatience not helping as his hands fumbled. James smiled into the kisses, only sighing in anticipation when Zemo finally freed him.

A sudden wave of insecurity rushed through his chest just a moment later. But Zemo dropping kisses on his cheek and neck and – oh god. His warm hand wrapping around his length.

“Fuck, Zemo.”

James didn’t have time to say anything more. He watched as Zemo sank down between his legs, knees thumping onto the wooden floor.

“Zemo.” James wanted to stop him. Needed to stop him. His breathing quickened even more. This wasn’t right. Not with Zemo, of all people.

But seeing him down at his feet like that, it did things to James he didn’t even —

“Relax, James,” Zemo told him, pupils dark, his gaze smoldering.

“—bs’lutely sure about this?” James couldn’t think. Or breathe. Even as his whole body tingled with exhilaration, he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Zemo wanted to do this with him, of all people.

“I know what I want, James,” Zemo told him then, words dripping with desire.

James smacked his head against the back of the sofa the moment Zemo dove forward. Zemo worked him so meticulously and breathlessly, like he’d been waiting for this moment for years. And the muffled moans... James couldn’t hold back the gasps that erupted in the back of this throat as he groaned up at the ceiling, all senses tuning in to the feeling of Zemo’s tongue, of his warm mouth —

His vibranium grip on one of the pillows ripped the fabric. James quickly covered his mouth with his metal hand to stop himself from breaking anything else and to drown out his own irrepressible moans. He hadn’t felt like this in a long, long time. Like he wasn’t in control of his body anymore.

Gods, maybe this was Zemo apologizing to James with his mouth, for all the times he'd riled him up. Finally putting that mouth to good use for once.

Zemo’s hand reached up and caught his wrist, pulling down to place it at the back of the baron’s head, to follow his every movement. James’ breath caught in his chest as the motion coaxed him to glance down at Zemo. Somehow, he was smirking even on his knees, even in the middle of this… even with those glazed over eyes gazing up at him.

Warm hands gripped his thighs as he gave him a small nod, like permission to set the tempo. But instead of grabbing Zemo’s hair and doing so, James merely ran his fingers through those strands, delighting in the way Zemo’s eyes rolled to the back of his head at the motion, moaning into him, sending vibrations up his entire body.

James never pushed or pulled him. He let Zemo set the rhythm. He knew the baron would make him feel good. He trusted Zemo more with his pleasure than he trusted himself. He didn't have to do anything anymore. He could just let go completely.

And James was right. Zemo took control, finding just the right motions that made his breathing hitch. And then he adjusted to hit his most sensitive spots to a rhythm that made James delirious, that made him see stars.

“Zee —” he managed to gasp, gripping his strands, sure he was going to pass out. Zemo somehow redoubled his efforts then, holding his legs tight.

Truth be told, James tried to hold back. And maybe that was why, when he finally did come undone, it was like nothing he had ever felt before.

The whole world shattered. For a moment, he had no idea where he was, when he was, who he was. Everything was gone except for this feeling. The release that had erupted in his chest and was spreading through his body like a drug.

James blinked and suddenly there was Zemo, appearing out of nowhere, back on top of him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand with that signature smirk.

Bucky grabbed the sides of that face, gazing at him, chest heaving, still in disbelief. He was at a complete loss for words.

Zemo leaned closer, his voice raspy. “You do not know how long I have wanted to get on my knees for you.”

“Should…” James blinked, still struggling to find his way to words. “Should do that more often.”

Zemo’s smile widened, a warm hand running through Bucky’s hair. “I intend to,” he promised.

James tilted his head up then, kissing him gently, tasting himself on those lips. He wrapped his arms around the baron like he was afraid he’d slip away and pressed his hips up. Zemo did a double take as he glanced down. Well shit. He was already hard again.

“I can keep going,” Zemo told him softly, already making his way down again.

But James caught his arm, pulling him back up. “No," James said, both as a promise and a threat, "it’s your turn now.”

Chapter Text

Zemo

“Fuck me, James,” Zemo begged instantly, his mind woozy with want.

“I don't want to hurt you.”

For fuck's sake. “You won't. T’s okay James," he dropped kisses on his neck, "I can take it. I want to take it, all of it.” It felt like he was running a fever, his whole body buzzing in excitement, even if James hesitated. If only he actually took control and decided to be rough instead of so fucking considerate- Zemo gasped as the idea hit him. “Kitchen.”

“What?”

“The- The kitchen, James. God, I ordered so many oils,” Zemo’s eyes fluttered. He thanked the gods he’d bought so many fucking ingredients. It had never crossed his mind that he'd use them like this, but he couldn't be more grateful for them now.

His breathing hitched when James rose up and pulled him into the kitchen without question. Yes, take over. The air was suffocating and heavy as his heart raced. He couldn't wait for -

“Wait,” James pushed Zemo back against the counter before caging him in with his arms on both sides. He hovered, keeping Zemo on his toes before he smirked and dove down on one knee.

“James?”

James glanced up at him, all relaxed. His hands fumbled with the bottom of Zemo’s pants, pulling them up. That was when Zemo realized what he was doing down there. He smiled as he clicked open the monitor.

Zemo exhaled. “Thank you.”

James threw the tech away. But instead of getting up, he stayed right where he was.

“James?”

“I know what I want, Zemo,” he said, gazing in front of him before glancing up, slowly moving his hands up to unclasp Zemo’s belt. The sight made Zemo’s heart skip a beat. “I just wish it wasn’t so...”

“Complicated?” Zemo offered.

James nodded. Then he rose up again, gazing at him for a moment before leaning in and kissing him again. Zemo ran his fingers into his hair, grasping the strands for leverage before bulking up against him again.

“Right,” James huffed. “Oil.”

As James turned to grab something, Zemo hastily undressed completely and bent over the counter, knuckles holding onto the edge of the marble hard, bracing himself. “Just — grab any one of them. Come on James.”

“So bossy,” James muttered before Zemo felt oil being poured everywhere, making his chest burn with impatience. Then, out of nowhere, James grabbed his shoulders and forced him around, his back down against the counter.

“I want to see your face,” James told him nonchalantly, smirking as he leaned closer.

If someone saw them now - gods that somehow made it even hotter – his thoughts dissolved when Bucky’s tongue dove into his mouth. Zemo held that coarse stubble close as James devoured him. A cold metal finger prodded at him then, making his breath hitch. “James, please.”

“Easy,” James whispered, going slow, being careful. As usual. He took his time as his finger felt his way around. Then two. Zemo groaned, his chest rising and falling, relaxing as they kissed away.

Then the fingers were gone.

Zemo grabbed him hard, growling. “Take me.” It was an order, but his desperation made it sound more like a plea than anything else.

James laughed as he leaned down to kiss him. The motion brought him closer. With ease, he slipped in. Zemo’s breath stuttered as they became one.

James

James let out a little groan, pressing his face into Zemo’s neck as he found an easy rhythm. It felt like he could breathe again. It felt so good. And the beautiful little sounds Zemo made at every push only made it better.

At every exhale, at every glide, James felt a little bit lighter. And every time, he went just a bit further, pressing them together, until he couldn't tell where he ended and Zemo started. His eyes fluttered as he felt his heart feel like this - whole.

A sniff brought him out of his bliss.

“You’re crying,” James whispered as he slowed to a stop.

Tears were rolling down the baron’s face. James gently brushed them away.

Zemo exhaled unsteadily. “It’s — it’s relief… James.”

James gazed down at him, saw the way the baron blinked up at him with that bittersweet look. He believed Zemo. He kissed him hard then, pressing in deep, moving again. His breaths came out shallow as he quickened his pace ever so slightly. “I really want to make you feel good, okay?”

“I do. Gods, I do, James.” Zemo let out a groan. “I do, I do, I do.”

James smiled and kissed him again as Zemo grabbed his hands. Fingers interlaced as James pressed the baron’s arms to the table. He kept to the rhythm, holding him firmly.

Making love had never felt like this to him. Back in the day it had always felt mechanical. He'd always been waiting for something to click. For that moment, when he wouldn’t have to think anymore, or worry about the next move.

But with Zemo, somehow, all of it came naturally from the start. He wasn’t worried, like he had been, going on dates with semi-strangers. He knew Zemo, he trusted him. He could let go around him, let his body move the way it wanted to.

Zemo smiled into his kiss and James couldn’t help but smile back. Zemo let out another high pitched whimper. James could tell he was close.

He redoubled his efforts, the same way Zemo had, when he’d been on his knees. He wanted to make Zemo feel as good as he did.

Zemo

The floating feeling was something incredible. Being drunk didn't even begin to compare to it. He was both completely lucid and completely intoxicated, still able to take in every touch fully, delighting in every thrust, letting each one of them take him higher. Every single one made his chest heave with overwhelming emotion. He knew insecurities and the ghosts of his past would come to haunt him once this was over, but for now, in this moment, he was freed completely. It was like the world was no more with James filling him up, completing him. And to think he was at a super soldier's mercy. The man would never hurt him, but Zemo still wondered how much he was holding back. What would happen if he didn't.

James suddenly hit something deep inside of him. Zemo heaved in ecstasy. He grabbed that metal wrist and tugged it to his neck, tilting his chin up.

James didn't hesitate as he panted, focused on keeping up his pace. He wrapped those cold fingers around his throat. Zemo moaned, keening as those fingers tightened their hold. Was James going to be able to control his strength? Was he going to accidentally kill him? Was he going to kill him on purpose?

Zemo's breathing hitched at the thought alone, though it was hard to focus on theoreticals as James kept gliding into him so easily and so fast... God he was this close now, his face burning up from the heat and lack of oxygen. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as his body completely surrendered.

“Zemo...”

The whisper was all it took.

Zemo shattered so hard he blacked out for a split second. The next thing he knew, James was hauling him up like he weighed nothing, his body still convulsing as he saw stars. Somehow, he managed to wrap his legs around him as James began to carry him up the stairs. Even though he was still dizzy, mind hazy from all the pleasure coursing through his veins, James didn’t hold back or give him a moment to breathe. Every few steps, he pushed Zemo up against the wall,  kissing him and driving deeper, making Zemo’s breath stutter.

“Finally had enough?” James smirked then, breathless himself.

“Never,” Zemo managed to say before dropping heated kisses on Bucky's face and diving in for another taste, all while James kept bulking into him, making him gasp at every push.

His vigor only turned Zemo on more.

“How long can you keep going for?” he asked as James finally heaved him into his room.

“No idea.”

When he dropped Zemo onto his bed, the baron remembered that this was only the second time he’d been upstairs in Bucky’s room.

So much for taking it slow.

James was on top of him in a flash to run his hands through the baron’s sweaty hair. “One more time?”

Zemo nodded frantically. “One more.”

***

James dropped down on top of him, wasted. His heavy weight and hot skin was grounding. Zemo closed his eyes in bliss even as he panted along with Bucky, beads of sweat rolling down his skin.

When James had caught his breath, he lifted his head, smirking down at him. “Tired?” he teased.

“Exhausted,” Zemo admitted. Yes, there was the physical aspect. But there was also the emotional weight of it all, the breaking of that tension that had lasted this long… it had taken more energy from him than hours of combat fighting would have. Not to mention that they had been going at this for quite a while.

Zemo glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was already well into the afternoon.

Zemo hadn’t done this in a while. He’d forgotten how taxing it could be, when one was so completely taken by... all these emotions.

He gulped as he blinked, thoughts inevitably racing to the past. He forced his breaths to steady. He wasn’t betraying anyone. Nor was he moving on. He was simply living.

“You okay?”

“Fine, I —” Zemo gathered his thoughts, gazing up at James. Honesty. Right. “I was thinking of Heike.”

James observed him with a little nod, clearly unsure whether this was a good or a bad thing.

“It’s okay,” Zemo reassured with a small smile, holding his hand tight. “It happens, sometimes. The past, coming back up. I think you understand.”

James nodded. He dipped down to kiss his neck, staying there for a while, until Zemo relaxed. “I’ll go take a shower,” he then said quietly.

Zemo brought Bucky’s head back up to analyze his expression. There was something in that look. Something weary, shy. “Do you want company?”

“T’s okay,” James said as he pulled from his grasp. He turned away and sat up.

Zemo lifted up on his elbows.

James turned to give him a little smile. “I’ll just be a min, kay?”

“Alright,” Zemo exhaled.

As James headed into the en-suite, Zemo let himself fall back on the pillow, breathing out the same way he had in Riga.

Interesting. James was holding something back. What it was, who knew. Zemo didn’t want to prod. Didn’t feel like it right now, anyway.

He adjusted himself, only then remembering why the hell the pillow was so uncomfortable. After a quick glance towards the bathroom, he pulled out the gun.

James

James closed the bathroom door behind him, letting himself exhale. He gnawed at his lip. He didn't know how to feel about Zemo thinking of Heike. It made all of this feel wrong. What if he was hurting the baron? He took a deep breath as he stepped into the shower, letting the boiling water wash his sweaty skin, letting it wash away the uneasy feeling. He felt so much for the baron, it was hard to grasp. He didn't know if he could hold himself back even if it was wrong. He wants this too, he had to remind himself. Gods, this was all so complicated. He couldn't imagine Sam's reaction if he found out. Or worse, Shuri's. Or anyone's really. This wasn't what was expected of him. Even if he knew that for once, after all this time of mindless wandering, he'd actually finally found something he wanted.

He groaned as he unclasped his vibranium arm. He had to wash it too, and that meant taking it off. The very reason why he hadn’t wanted Zemo in here with him. He couldn’t bring himself to show the baron himself like this. Incomplete and broken, vulnerable.

Right, like he hasn't seen you vulnerable, after you've had sex with him like three times, another voice in his head muttered.

James shook his head and gulped the thought away as he quickly went back to scrubbing. But memories of making love with Zemo came back anyway, stronger every second. The thoughts alone got him so turned on again. He had a problem.

“James?” he heard from behind the door. He hastily turned the water off, heart in his throat.

“Yeah?” Fuck. Anxiety coursed through him.

“My I use your phone again, to order some things?”

James let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “You don’t need to ask, Zemo.”

Zemo

Zemo smirked at himself as he grabbed the phone and went to work, adding one thing after the next. A few moments after he’d ordered everything he’d wanted, he heard the stream of the shower turn down, though not off completely.

“Zemo?” James called from within.

“Hmm?”

“Come here.”

Giddy like a child on Christmas morning, Zemo bounced up from the bed and hurried into the bathroom.

He’d barely crossed the threshold when a vibranium arm came out of nowhere, grabbed his arm and pulled him hard against the shower tiles.

He barely had time to breath, water gushing over him before James’ lips were on his. He wrapped his arms around the hot skin, fingers feeling the muscles that could crush him without breaking a sweat. And yet they didn't. James seemed set on kissing him instead of killing him. Zemo sighed as James pulled away.

Vibranium fingers tipped his chin up, making his throat tighten in want.

“One more time?” Zemo asked quietly as James grinned.

***

The sun was warm on their skin, blanket half fallen off the bed. Zemo lay on his side, lazily tracing Bucky’s hot chest with his hand.

James' fingers were racking through his damp hair. “Why didn’t you make a move, in Madripoor?”

“I was tempted to,” Zemo started softly. “But I knew you would kill me on the spot if I did. And that would not have been very productive.”

James smiled that giddy smile Zemo couldn’t get enough of. “So you already wanted me back then?”

Zemo glanced away, at his chest, at his fingers, dancing on the skin. “I had… impulses. Desires. After my time in prison I was…”

“Desperate?” James smirked.

“I had been so alone and seeing you…" Zemo gulped. "It changed something inside of me. I didn't know what to do so I was impulsive. Tried to push your buttons to get you to touch me. Even if it was in hatred.”

“I never hated you,” James said as he ran his fingers slowly through that hair. “I was scared of you… scared of myself. Of my own feelings, what I felt for you, of all people. I was scared of what it meant. Of what people would think.” He gave another smile. “If I really hated you, I would have kicked your ass. I would have…” His smirk faltered.

“Killed me,” Zemo said simply, smile still on his lips. He climbed up on Bucky, laying on his chest. “Would you have killed me if I had made an actual move?”

“If it hadn’t gone over my head, I might have,” James said, both hands now running through that hair. “But I probably would have come around.” He pulled the baron in to kiss him softly.

When Zemo leaned back to breathe, he was gazing down at his lips. “I regret keeping my silence. I was afraid of crossing a line. I was afraid of… reading you incorrectly. I was afraid of the off chance that you had no interest in me after all.”

James shook his head in disbelief. “I spent the days in Riga hoping you would say something. To tell me I wasn’t imagining things.”

Is it better to speak or to die? - the question Zemo had asked himself so many times in James' company. “I’m sorry.”

James’ lips quirked up. “For a ruthless killer, you’re surprisingly shy.”

“I do not easily let my vulnerable side show. It might be used against me. If you had rejected me, for example… I would have died just from the embarrassment alone.”

“I would have rejected you, at first. I probably would have pushed you against the wall or something.”

Zemo’s eyes glistened. “Then what?”

“Then I would have gone into my room, kicked the door shut, and I would have had an existential crisis for a good half hour. Then I would have found you and I would have kissed you.” Zemo felt his heart jump in his chest. James sighed. “We wasted so much time.”

That made Zemo chuckle. “Then we shall make up for it.”

James grabbed him and kissed him again. Zemo moaned into the touch. He still couldn't believe this was happening, nor how nice it felt, after all this pain, to feel so safe and warm.

The phone pinged then. Zemo leaned back so James could grab it and have a look. “Just Sam,” he said as he typed with one hand, the other too busy running along Zemo’s back.

“Do you think Sam would send me back, if he found out?”

James smiled at him as he placed the phone away. “I think he would just kill you.”

“Fair.”

James hesitated. “Which is why we need to be careful.”

“James,” Zemo held his gaze, “if this… if this becomes something, it can’t stay secret forever. You know that. The truth is going to find its way out one way or another.”

“I know…” James sighed. “Looks like I’m going to need to try and convince Sam not to kill you.”

“And if this counts as a breach in the contract? If I'm to be sent back?”

“No.” James shook his head, racking his fingers through that silky hair again. “I’ll make sure you're not sent back.”

Zemo gulped away the jittery feeling coursing through his body. It sounded like such a genuine promise. Only two weeks ago, they had been at each others throats, and now it was like James was willing to give everything to keep him here.

Zemo crawled closer, dipping down to meet those chapped lips. The kisses were slow and lazy. Zemo didn’t really realize when he drifted off. What he knew was that the sun was lower in the sky when he woke.

For a split second, he was horrified James had left his side, but he was still there, warm and breathing next to him. His presence calmed his mind instantly. Zemo pressed his fingers to his chest, feeling his pulse, a warm hand slithering into his hair again. He’d been an asshole for leaving James’ side that very morning. He vowed never to disappear on him again.

“How long have you been awake for?” Zemo mumbled.

“A while,” James smirked.

“I’m starving,” Zemo groaned.

“Well then let’s make some dinner.”

***

It was odd, this new dynamic. Zemo still felt like he was floating, even as he cleaned the kitchen with James, even as the two of them cut fresh vegetables and heated up water. Zemo tried not to glance over to the bottles of oils. Tried to ignore the counter. The memories had his heart racing. And James wrapping his arms around him from behind every so often didn’t help. Still, Zemo pressed into the embrace, exhaling in bliss. Everything felt so surprisingly easy. Familiar, from times long gone, but at the same time, so completely different and new.

It was dark outside by the time they were done with dinner on the couch, wine glasses half empty. They'd been too busy kissing between sips. As James placed the empty plate away, Zemo stayed on the couch, letting his fingers run over the pillow he’d been sleeping on since getting here.

“You’re not going to sleep there tonight, are you?” James asked from the stairs, waiting there.

“You want me to join you upstairs?” the baron asked, the question more rhetorical than anything else. They both knew what his answer was going to be.

James slowly made his way over to him before taking his arm and tugging him up and close. “You’re never sleeping on that couch ever again.”

He grabbed his head and kissed him hard, Zemo losing himself in the touch, body already heating up, anticipating.

As soon as James leaned back, Zemo grabbed his metal wrist and pulled him across the living room and up the stairs. He didn’t utter a word and didn’t have to. And James let the baron drag him up, smacking the door shut behind the two of them before they tumbled into his bed, James crawling on top of him, that beautiful smile on his lips, like he'd hit the jackpot.

Zemo held Bucky’s cheeks, caressing him softly, just gazing up at him, trying to commit the sight to memory.

“Thank you for coming here,” James said softly. “I know it’s better living conditions than the Raft, but…”

Zemo cut him off with a soft kiss. “I didn’t come here for the living conditions, James.”

James darted between his eyes. “Why did you come here, Zemo?”

They both knew the answer to that question. They both knew James just wanted to hear him say it out loud.

“I came here for you.”

Chapter Text

James

James had never slept so well, nor had he ever felt this nice in the morning, propped up on his pillows, feeling that warm body next to him. He gazed down at that messy hair, listening to the baron snore softly, face pressed to his side, arm still splayed across his chest.

He still couldn’t comprehend everything that had happened. And how all this felt… James couldn’t help but smile at the memories. All those sounds he didn’t know the baron could actually make. How the baron had incessantly kissed him, held him, like James was his anchor and he was holding on for dear life. As if the end of the world was at hand and he was trying to melt into him before it was too late.

He focused on the baron now, with his hair that seemed to glow in the golden morning sun. He could tell the baron was rousing by the slight twitch of his fingers over his sensitive muscles. By the quickening breaths fanning his skin.

James’ own breathing hitched when the baron moved his face only an inch closer to his side, so that his lips grazed him. And then those fingers started tracing his torso. Just as they had the evening before.

All of it felt so casual and relaxed, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like none of this was world-changing or mind-shattering or —

Zemo glanced up at him.

James only realized then that was their first morning together - seeing as Zemo had run off the other day. James gulped. He didn’t know what to do, really. Or what was going to happen. He’d not woken up next to anyone in… he couldn’t even remember. What the fuck was he supposed to do or say? What did normal people do?

But they weren’t normal, were they?

God, everything was all so confusing.

“Sleep well?” James mumbled, unsure of what else to say, but unable to stay silent.

Zemo nodded, making him exhale, his body relaxing.

“Nightmares?” the baron asked back.

James shook his head. “No.”

Zemo smiled then, crawling closer, up towards him.

Suddenly it felt like the easiest thing in the world, tilting his head, closing his eyes as he opened up for the baron, letting those soft lips kiss him. Those gentle hands cupped his cheeks like they were holding something precious. The tenderness of it all was almost enough to make James cry.

The bed dipped when Zemo moved to straddle him, two knees on the mattress on either side of him. The uninhibited smoothness of Zemo's advances rubbed off on Bucky, making all of his worries fade away. Nothing really mattered, other than his touch.

“Looks like the therapy is working, doc.” James allowed himself to smirk when Zemo leaned back to breathe. “What was it called again?” James started as he drew closer, pressing his lips to Zemo’s, wrapping his arms around his warm body. “Exposure therapy?”

Zemo hummed against his cheek. “If this is therapy, then it is extremely improper. I may be sued for malpractice, you know.”

“But doc,” James shook his head, gazing at him with a smile, “it’s working wonders.”

“I try my best,” Zemo whispered, stroking his thumb over Bucky's stubble before dropping soft kisses on his other cheek, rubbing his lips over his jaw.

James dipped deeper into the pillows, slackening further, even as the uncomfortable outline of his damned gun pressed into his upper back.

But the gun was quickly forgotten, when Zemo moved to kiss him again, the embrace easy and slow. When Zemo leaned back up, James tucked hair behind his ear, watching his hand move, the feel of that silky hair between his fingers. Then he met the baron's warm gaze. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Zemo framed Bucky’s face with his hands. He was giving him that look again, like he was really seeing him. His smile widened, a twinkle in his eyes. “So am I.”

***

Arms crossed, James leaned back on the counter as he watched Zemo make them both French toast. The composure of the baron almost made him jealous. Zemo moved so easily, snacking on the bowl of fruit next to the stove, like the last few days hadn’t even happened. Or at least, like they didn’t scare the shit out of him the way it scared the shit out of James.

In his defense, he’d been mostly lost in the moment, high on adrenaline, hostage of impulses he hadn’t been able to control. But the night’s rest seemed to have re-awoken fears. The same kinda that had plagued him when he’d entered the shower alone. The idea of being vulnerable, of showing Zemo everything… it was unnerving. And what made everything worse was that James actually wanted it. He wanted to show Zemo everything. He wanted it.

So why was it so hard?

He glanced at the bookshelf and then back at Zemo, flipping the contents of the sizzling pan as he tossed another raspberry into his mouth. Then his eyes darted back towards the bookshelf.

Like the arm, this was something he knew he should probably share with Zemo. But it wasn’t great, and it was personal if ever there was such a thing.

“Say, did the delivery arrive?” Zemo asked, mouth half full.

James was glad for the distraction. “I’ll go have a look.”

He took a deep breath and strolled to the door. As expected, there was a box sitting alone on the terrace. He glanced up and around. No one in sight.

Sometimes this shit gave him the creeps, though he knew door deliveries were just a normal part of modern life.

He pulled the box inside and smacked the door shut. “Alright, let’s see.” He knelt down beside it as Zemo turned off the stove and leaned his hands on the counter, clearly waiting for him to proceed.

James carefully opened the box. A smile found its way to his lips as he lifted out the vinyls. “Right, there’s classical, Debussy, Vivaldi —” A laugh suddenly escaped his throat. He showed Zemo the album. “Marvin Gaye!” He laughed again in disbelief, eyes darting to meet Zemo’s gaze. The baron was smiling at him with a smoldering look that made James feel like he was melting inside. “Don’t look at me like that,” James warned as he set the vinyls aside.

“Like what?”

Like you want to devour me, he might have said. But his thoughts were once again cut off by a chuckle. “What have we here,” he pulled out the first bottle. “Lube,” he placed it aside and took out another one, “more lube, oh, and look there,” he pulled out yet another few, “even more lube.”

This time, when their gazes met, Zemo almost looked feral, like he was seconds away from pouncing, and only just holding himself back. James wouldn’t have been surprised if he was grasping onto the marble of the counter for his life.

James quickly glanced away to keep his heart from racing too hard. Luckily, the last thing in the box wasn’t something he recognized. Something to take his mind off... that look.

There were two rifles, but they weren’t real guns, James could tell that.

He pulled one of them out, frowning. Way too light to be a real weapon too. “What the hell is this?”

“Invented in the eighties,” Zemo said as he cleared his throat and straightened up. He slide French toast onto their plates and leisurely walked over to the dining table next to James. “It’s called paintball.”

“Paintball...”

“It’s a game. You try to shoot your opponents with the paintballs that are fired from the gun. Completely harmless.”

I’m sure.

James tested the weight of the firearm, pressing it against his shoulder, glancing through the scope.

Didn't take much for him to fall back into form.

Zemo’s words hit him out of nowhere.

He lowered his aim, taking a deep breath. He glanced back at the baron, hating that his instinct was to look his way in search for reassurance.

“We can try it, if you want,” Zemo told him, his tone cautious.

“Why?” he asked.

Zemo shrugged as he poured them both coffee. “I was thinking,” he motioned with his free hand, “if fighting is something you enjoy, why not indulge yourself?”

“Well, for one,” James set down the gun, “maybe because it’s too close to…” He forced steady breaths. He couldn’t deny that it actually did sound like fun. But that was exactly why it wasn’t a good idea.

“You’re afraid the lines may blur,” Zemo started. James hesitated. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

What if some part of his brain thought the guns and shooting was real? What if the Winter Soldier came back because of that? What if the reason he thought it was fun was because the Winter Soldier inside of him enjoyed killing? He’d been asking himself the same questions during each of their hand to hand combats, but this was something different. This was a step closer —

“James.”

James blinked. Zemo had moved, now crouching right in front of him, inches from his face. A hand cupped his cheek, as if Zemo was checking if he was still there.

“I’m okay,” he reassured the baron quietly.

“I shouldn’t have gotten —”

“No, I… I’m happy you got all this. This is...” He smirked, glancing at the pile of lube. “You spoil me.”

Two hands grabbed his cheeks and pulled him in suddenly. The kiss took Bucky's breath away. It felt like a confession.

Zemo had no trouble pulling him in further, as James let him, until the baron was on his back and James was on top of him.

James pulled away, the taste of raspberries still lingering on his lips. “If we continue like this, we’ll never have breakfast.”

Zemo grabbed the back of his head, holding onto his hair, all desperate. “Breakfast can wait.” James couldn’t believe it, but Zemo was already breathless.

“It’ll get cold. And you know how I love your cooking.” James smiled down at him, his strands almost touching Zemo’s face. He brushed his thumb along the side of his head, contouring it before his thumb lazily settled on the baron's lower lip. “I want to savor the taste of it.”

Zemo gulped at that. “Savor the taste?”

“Yeah.” James smirked, dipping down steadily. Zemo tilting his chin up to meet him halfway but just then, James lifted away, grabbing the baron’s arm and forcefully yanking him up to stand, the motion so fast that Zemo knocked into his chest.

The baron’s fingers tightened in the fabric of his shirt. “After breakfast?” Zemo asked, looking at him with those dark pleading eyes.

James glanced at the bookshelf again, before smiling down at the baron. “Maybe,” he teased.

Zemo untilted his head. Clearly he’d had it tilted without James noticing. He was analyzing him again with that look. He squeezed his hand, giving him a soft smile. “You set the pace, James.”

James wondered what Zemo would say, or how he would act, if he read the book he was glancing at on the bookshelf.

If he read his meditation journal.

***

“Meditation is something I highly recommend,” Raynor told him with her usual raised eyebrows.

James leaned further back into the stupid therapy sofa. “Yeah, well, I’ve tried that, and it sucked.”

“As with most aspects of therapy, things tend to get worse before they can get better.”

“That’s what you always say. You’ve been saying that from the start.”

“Have you been applying the methods? Have you been listening? Have you been following the rules? Genuinely? Or have you been playing around with the rules on purpose, trying to avoid the real work? Nothing comes from nothing, Mr. Barnes.”

James sighed, only just holding back from growling in frustration. He wanted to punch something. Shoot something. Someone. Let off some steam.

“Try it, this time,” Raynor told him. “Really try it.”

James smirked. What, shooting someone?

“Try meditating every day or two. And give yourself time to really sink into it.”

Right. That.

***

Zemo

James had been right to insist on eating. The food was delicious, if Zemo could say so himself. Or maybe it just seemed that way. He could tell that his body needed the energy – to regain some strength after all their… physical activities.

As they ate, a soft patter of rain began outside, turning into a downpour by the time they cleared the table. As James made to the kitchen, Zemo ran his fingers along the edge of the table that James had broken off. “I believe a new dining table is in order.”

James turned to him from the sink. “You don’t think some superglue might be enough?”

Zemo chuckled, shaking his head. He joined James in the kitchen. “You ripped apart a couch cushion as well, you know.”

“Zemo…” James warned as he turned to him. Funny, there was never any bite in his warnings this morning.

Zemo put his hands up in surrender. “I do not mind it.”

James rose his eyebrows in disbelief. “You don’t mind that I have superhuman strength. That if I lose control, I might…”

“Kill me?” Zemo asked, tilting his head with a smile. “Don’t worry, James. I trust you.”

James chuckled, biting his lip as he glanced at the ceiling. “Yeah but that’s the thing, Helmut. I don’t even trust myself.”

Zemo tried not to let his shiver show when James used his first name. He gathered his composure. “Then we’ll work on building that trust. Your pace, yes?”

“Yeah.” James glanced down at the floor tiles. Their legs were inches apart. Zemo could almost feel Bucky’s heat. It was unbelievable, how much he had to restrain himself to hold back from grabbing the supersoldier – begging him to take him, if he had to. Every second they didn’t touch, it felt like the tension in the air rose exponentially, growing thick and heavy. He wondered if James felt it too. But for the time being, at least, he could tell something was bothering James, so Zemo forced himself to hold back.

He’ll come to you when he’s ready, he told himself.

James glanced back up to meet his gaze.

“So,” Zemo started then, “what do you want to do?”

James glanced back at the bookshelf. “Read?”

“Very well. It is the perfect weather for it after all.”

While James simply sat down and started reading, Zemo set up one of the classical vinyls onto the record player before gathering any scented candles he could find. The rain pounding against the windows only added to the cozy atmosphere.

He knew this was all James stalling. But he would give the man time. He knew he needed it. Who could blame either of them? Neither were used to such intimacy. Zemo didn’t even know the last time Bucky had felt like he could fully open up to anyone. Surely not Sam. And who else did he have? His fucking psychopath therapist?

Zemo made himself comfortable on the couch to focus on his novel. He knew James’ eyes kept dashing at him. But he also kept glancing at the bookshelf. James was barely even pretending to read. And though Zemo tried to read, his own train of thoughts did not let him focus either.

He smiled at the warm memories, the sound of Bucky's panting, his branding touch. He found himself tracing his lip with his finger, remembering those coarse lips claiming him. All those lewd groans coming out of that man’s mouth-

Out of nowhere, a notebook smacked onto the coffee table. Zemo blinked, suddenly back in the living room. James was standing there, at the table. The music had stopped, too. “James?”

James stared at him for a moment longer before he crashed down onto the other end of the couch, nipping at his thumb.

“What is that?” Zemo asked, frowning at the notebook.

James motioned. “Take it.”

Zemo hesitated as he reached out, exchanging his book for this one. He leaned back as he opened to the first page.

Personal Journal of James Buchanan Barnes

“James,” he said immediately, closing it and glancing at him. “I can’t read this.”

James didn’t turn away from his gaze. “But I want you to.”

Was this… was this what had been on James’ mind all morning?

The baron inhaled sharply as he looked down, slowly flicking through the pages of scribbled notes.

James cleared his throat. “I think you can help me – you have helped me – more than she ever did. But you can’t fully understand if… if you don’t know all of it…”

Zemo slowed his peruse, skimming through notes here and there, weary of Bucky’s words. “James…”

“Just read it? Please?”

***

I tried. I really tried. I tried everything. I did everything she asked, for once. I hate it. I hate it so much. Even just thinking of it makes me feel like shit. Like I deserve to die. I see blood when I close my eyes for too long. I feel his cold heart beat inside of my chest. I feel myself stabbing, shooting all those people. Blood on my hands. A part of me wants it, too. Enjoys it. And then there are moments I am horrified. This isn’t me. But I’m seeing all these memories. Like he’s trying to catch me, find me, pull me under, pull me back in time when they could still get to me with those words. But he can’t get me, right? The Wakandans made sure of it.

So why does it feel like he can? Like every time I sit down and close my eyes, I feel like he’s a step closer?

I keep getting flashes during my sessions. Memories of the winter soldier that haunt me for days and then only pile up as every meditation adds more memories. And it’s not just visual. Not just images. It’s feelings too. Fear. Anger. Pain.

It hurts.

Meditation fucking hurts.

This isn’t therapy, this is torture.

Now I can even hear him in my thoughts. And sometimes I have the feeling time went missing. I’m scared. Scared of losing myself, of being more him than myself. Of dying, and him living.

I don’t even know who I am anymore.

I don’t know how long I can hold on for.

Can I even put an end to this? I heard about Banner’s attempt. Will the Soldier stop me too? What if he does? What if I can’t die even though I want to? Or need to?

Even if I called that damned therapist, even if I ask for this to stop, I know the nightmares won’t. I know that. Things won’t change. Things won’t get better. They never do.

I don’t know how long I can keeping doing this. Sometimes I can’t even get out of bed. Why would I? Why should I? With that godforsaken serum in my veins, I can just lay down in the forest out there and stay there for days, weeks, months, without dying. It’s a curse. All of this is. I hate it. I hate myself. I hate this life. I want it to end. I only hope Sam won’t be mad. I hope he’ll understand. I know the baron will. I hope he’s stronger than me this time around.

***

James

James didn’t look his way. He couldn’t bear witness Zemo reading his innermost thoughts and turmoils, even if he wanted him to read them.

Tears were threatening to build but he gulped them away. This was fine. Everything was fine.

“James…”

James turned to the floor between them.

“Why did you do this to yourself?” James finally allowed himself to glance at Zemo. The moment their eyes met, James knew he wouldn't be able to look away again. “Why?”

The question hung in the air.

“I don’t know,” James answered quietly. “I thought… maybe if I stuck it out long enough, it would start helping instead of hurting.”

“Something like this...” Zemo motioned at the notebook. “If it makes you worse, it is not helping you.”

“Sometimes things are meant to hurt.”

Zemo paused, jaw tightening.

The baron blinked and James watched a single teardrop drip down his cheek. He felt his heart sink in his chest at the sight. “Zemo?”

Zemo slowly brushed it away. “I may need a moment. Excuse me.” He stood and made out onto the terrace, rain pounding down.

James nervously bit on his finger. Had this been too much?

Zemo

Zemo headed out onto the covered terrace, thankful for the fresh air and the cool wind, the breeze sending some rain his way. He took a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

The things he’d just read…

He shook his head. This was madness. No fucking therapist in their right mind would ask this of James. Or perhaps they thought it would help – fair – with the expectations that James would tell them if it wasn’t working.

But if they knew James, even just a little bit, they would have known that he would never admit if something hurt. He’d keep it to himself, and he’d tough it out.

Which was why Zemo shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course James would keep going despite the misery. He knew Bucky. The stubborn ex soldier didn’t care about his own pain.

But Zemo did.

He held on to the terrace railing, trying to calm his shallow breaths.

That’s when he heard the door slide open behind him.

“I just needed a moment to cool down,” Zemo said quickly, hoping he hadn’t caused James too much of a fright. This was about him, after all. Zemo had to try and be there for him now.

James

“Are you angry?” James asked quietly, heart racing. He couldn’t have waited another second longer. He had to know what was wrong.

He watched Zemo take a deep breath before his expression hardened.

“Yes,” he muttered. James shuddered. Why? Zemo's fists tightened on the railing. “Angry at Raynor and whoever endorsed this. Forcing you to do things... things that caused you so much agony.”

“It wasn’t a big deal, really. It was just meditation.”

Zemo glared at him. “Meditation which almost made you…” the baron’s breath hitched. James knew what he was about to say. Zemo’s frown deepened. “It isn’t right. None of this is. It’s almost like they wanted you weakened.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I shouldn’t speak my thoughts?” The anger in his voice was palpable. James thought he recognized the Zemo from Siberia. “I know you didn’t want me talking about this whole therapy thing, but...”

“I know they wanted me off the grid. I gathered that much.”

“I’m sure that’s all they wanted,” Zemo replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“What are you implying? That they wanted to hurt me?”

Zemo’s mouth twitched.

Bucky's breathing quickened, hands turning to fists. “Sam agreed to this, Zemo. You saying he wants to hurt me too?”

“Of course not,” Zemo said quickly, clearly aware of the rage rising in him.

“You need to stop seeing enemies everywhere, Zemo. They’re trying to help me. We’re trying different things. I stopped with the meditation in the end. So what’s the problem?”

Zemo stepped right up to him. “The problem,” he snapped, “is that you didn’t stop when it got worse. You kept going. You kept going until you were at the brink of killing yourself over it. Why? Because you thought you deserved the pain?”

“Maybe I do. I did things —”

Zemo grabbed his collar. “The Winter Soldier did those things!”

“Does it matter?!” James smacked his hand away. “I share his dreams. I share his body.”

“But not his consciousness!”

“What would you know of it? How can you know? He’s a part of me. You said it yourself, a part of him is still in there.”

Zemo looked furious now. “That does not make anything he did your fault!”

James grabbed Zemo and pushed him against the wall, smacking the air from his lungs. “You’re wrong. I let myself get captured. I let them brainwash me. I should have tried harder to get out. You know how many times I’ve thought back to it? How many times I realized I could have fought back, how many times I could have escaped? But I didn’t. I was weak and scared and this is what I get.” He blinked, tears dropping in frustration. “A lifetime of misery. Deserved.”

“You don’t deserve any this, James,” Zemo growled. “You did everything you could have.”

James knocked him back again. “Don’t push it.”

“You should not have to atone for the crimes of the Winter Soldier. You are not him. And none of it was your fault.”

“Zemo,” James warned, “you’re playing with fire.”

“I’m not afraid to get burned.”

Within the blink of an eye, James had wrapped his vibranium hand around the baron’s throat.

Zemo’s breathing hitched. He lifted his hands to grab the metal wrist. Not pushing away or pulling. Just holding. “Is that all you’ve got?”

“Zemo…” James gave him a warning squeeze.

Zemo groaned, but James suspected it wasn’t from pain. Zemo still wasn’t fighting his grasp, even if he squirmed slightly against the wall.

“You know… I- am right, James,” he gasped. “They are still controlling you. Making you believe you are the perpetrator rather than the victim. Making you punish yourself for it. You are doing hydra’s work for them.”

James pulled him forward before whacking him hard against the wall again. Zemo let out an open-mouthed moan. James squeezed his throat again, pushing him hard against the wall. “Stop it! Shut up!”

Zemo heaved breaths through his open mouth but stayed quiet, observing him as James felt his heart hammer, this close to losing control of his mind and body. He wanted to kill Zemo for saying what he had.

The fact that he was right only made everything worse.

“James,” Zemo finally croaked, adjusting himself in his grasp. “Take the rage they gave you and use it against them.”

James knocked him against the wall once more in warning. “I told you to shut up.”

Zemo smiled up at him, eyes fluttering. “You can... take it out... on me,” he heaved, pupils growing dark.

“I’d kill you.”

“Try your best.”

James smashed into him, kissing him so hard he almost broke skin as their teeth clashed. He bit Zemo’s lips in punishment before claiming his mouth again, holding him against the wall, securing him in place.

And the bastard was fucking enjoying this, already letting out loud whines, kissing him back, trying to fight back with his own tongue but failing miserably. James wanted to be the one in control now, not the other way around.

He kept a hold on the baron’s throat as he began pulling him towards the door, directing him across the living room even as he kept devouring him.

Without letting go of the baron, he grabbed what he needed from the box and pushed him to the stairs.

Zemo

Zemo barely realized they were moving until his foot hit something – a step of the stairs. The world was spinning, all of it narrowed down to Bucky’s hand on his throat. Zemo had to hold on to not drown in the whirlwind of mindless pleasure as James heaved him up, by his shirt and throat.

This was everything he’d prayed for and more.

After semi-lifting him up the staircase, James clumsily pulled him along into his room, smacking the door shut behind them, the smack so loud Zemo jumped. He opened his eyes just in time to see the doorknob tear through the drywall.

“Scared?” James smirked as he nibbled at Zemo’s neck, fingers still wrapped around it.

He inhaled sharply. “No.”

He meant it. He knew he could die but he didn't care. A small death or a real death - same difference.

“You should be,” James whispered as he thrust him down on the bed and straddled him, one hand grabbing both of his wrists to keep them above his head while the vibranium hand squeezed his throat again.

Zemo arched his back as he let out another involuntary moan.

James groaned in what could only be annoyance. “Just to be clear, this isn’t me thanking you, Zemo. It’s me telling you to shut up and fuck off.”

Zemo smirked.

“Don’t smile at me like that.”

Zemo couldn’t help but widen his smile. Maybe he didn’t deserve to feel this good, but gods, he was going to cherish every second of what he got.

“You provoking me again?” James warned, dipping lower.

Zemo sighed and squirmed underneath his weight, nodding quickly, pleading with his eyes.

James started making quick work of their clothes, Zemo suddenly struggled in his hold. “Careful, James,” he panted, “this is designer fashion.”

“I can’t fucking believe it.” James cut Zemo off from saying anything else, perhaps for the better. His tongue worked his mouth as he flung off their clothes. Zemo thankfully didn't hear anything rip. “This isn’t a reward, you asshole,” James scowled.

“What is it then?” Zemo breathed, voice all innocent. “A punishment?”

James motioned at him to raise his hands over his head again. He grabbed both wrists once more, immobilizing him. He dipped down to his ear. “Is this what you wanted? To be helpless like this?”

Zemo desperately tried to breathe, but his chest was not cooperating. He tried to get the words out, but his throat was tight too focused on James’ weight on top of him.

Bucky's hand ran through his hair and Zemo’s eyes instinctively fluttered shut, his head tilting to give him more access. “James, please…”

“Yeah?”

“I want this.” I need this. I need this. I need this. Fuck it. “I need this.”

James chuckled right into his face. “The way I could use this against you.” The kiss was slow, but deep, their tongues weaving together once more. Zemo would have grabbed Bucky’s head and pulled him in even closer, but his wrists were pressed to the top of the bed. This was heaven then, he supposed.

His hips moved all on their own, trying to get him closer, whatever it took.

“I need you,” it slipped out again.

“Don’t worry, I need you too.”

“Well then stop being the uptight sergeant that you are and claim what is yours.”

James

The words sparked a new ferocity inside of him, his emotions livid.

James pushed his hand against his throat again. “Weren’t you the one saying something about going at my pace?”

Zemo whined at that, squirming underneath him. “Please, James.”

“So desperate,” James teased. He wanted this as much as Zemo, but that didn’t mean Zemo had to know.

“I can’t help it,” Zemo let out in one breath.

“I know.”

With the way the baron was looking up at him… James knew he was a lost cause. He was burning to get Zemo to scream.

It was so easy to wrestle him. Zemo couldn’t fight his hold if he tried. But he didn’t. James could see the way he delighted in this. He saw it in the way those eyes lit up, and those lips turned up into that feral smile. The heat of his skin. The roll of his hips, enticing him, provoking him, teasing him, riling him up, even now.

Even now, despite being so fucking desperate, Zemo still seemed the one in control. And it fucking frustrated the hell out of James.

So he went harder, pressed him down further.

And Zemo arched up and captured his lips with just as much passion.

There was no winning with him.

So James gave him everything.

The world turned into a blur. James forgot, at times, in Zemo’s heat, where he was, when he was. Even who he was. It all faded away, replaced by nothing but feelings. By that warmth and that skin and those sounds. It sent him somewhere else, outside of his own damned mind. A moment of respite from everything, from his past, present and unsure future.

James couldn’t remember ever letting go of himself like this or feeling so good.

And that he felt like this… with Zemo of all people.

Zemo.

Out of everyone.

The bane of his fucking existence.

“I hate you so much,” James managed to mumble between all the panting. 

“I hate- you too.” The way the baron groaned the words between his loud whines… James’ heart melted in his chest.

“I hate you more,” he growled back, forcing his body to keep moving, for the loving words not to move him so. James kissed him again before he could reply something that would make the emotions burst out of him like an exploding dam.

Zemo’s mouth was his most dangerous weapon, and he knew it.

So he made sure the baron was too preoccupied to speak, only allowing him to catch his breath now and then, enough to utter single words, before they too became a garbled mess of sounds, English mixed in with Sokovian.

Still, at every turn, James was ready for any signs of pain or hesitation. For a ‘wait’, a ‘stop’, a ‘no’.

Instead, all he heard were moans and ‘more’, and ‘faster’, and ‘James’.

Chapter Text

James

James blinked at the ceiling, chest heaving. He needed a moment – more, even, than a moment – to catch his breath. All this physical exertion had him more exhausted than he’d been in a while.

He swiped sweat from his brow.

When he slowly came back down to earth, and Zemo still hadn’t spoken from next to him, James finally allowed himself to look at the baron.

In the back of his mind, a fear remained that he’d maybe been too rough. James had forgotten himself and his own strength. He was scared he’d miscalculated. He didn’t how much was too much for someone who was… normal.

Zemo’s skin was glistening with pearls of sweat, his chest still rising and falling fast.

James ran his fingers through his damp hair. “Did I hurt you?”

Zemo made a little sound as his lips twitched into a smile and he met his gaze. “If I did not get any bruises, I would be disappointed.”

“Zemo.”

The baron sighed. “Would you believe me, if I said I enjoyed the pain?”

“I know you do,” James replied. “But that doesn’t make me want to hurt you.”

“Such consideration,” Zemo teased with a pinch of sarcasm. He caught Bucky’s wrist, playing around with it, tracing the skin with his fingers, before pulling his hand and pressing it around his throat. “From the man who keeps choking me.”

James’ heart skipped a beat. “That doesn’t— it isn’t—”

“It isn’t the same?” Zemo smirked. “I know what you mean. But James, I will bear every mark with pride and fondness.”

James frowned, carefully brushing his thumb over his throat. “I don’t want you to fall into the trap… of thinking you deserve the pain.” Zemo looked between his eyes with his weird smile, not saying a word. “What?”

“And you are already in that trap, James,” he said softly.

“I can’t even get hurt.”

“Not physically.” He placed his own hand on James’ chest, pressing over his heart. “Now I know why you stayed close to Nakajima.” James gazed at him, already fearing what the baron was going to say next. “For the same reason you kept meditating. You kept him close by, so that every single day, you would be reminded of your failures. Of your past. Of all the harm the Winter Soldier had caused.”

The baron watched his own hand tracing Bucky’s chest, even as he spoke.

“It is punishment you think you deserve because you believe you are to blame for what the Soldier did. Else you would have never sought to make amends. Because why make amends for something you never did?”

James stayed silent.

“You believe you should feel the pain, the shame, the guilt of what the Winter Soldier has done. But you shouldn’t carry that weight, James. Hydra may be gone, but they are still hurting you this way.”

James blinked, only then feeling the warm tear slide down the side of his face.

Zemo finally met his gaze. “Do you still believe you deserve it?”

James found himself nodding, even as he cheeks reddened in shame. He knew it wasn’t right, but he couldn’t help himself. He knew that if he was any other person, he would have told himself that it wasn’t his fault. But still, he felt the weight of his past pulling him down, pulling him under. “I don’t deserve to live on like nothing ever happened. People died because of me.”

“They died because of Hydra. Because of their Winter Soldier. Not you.”

“But it was still me.”

“No, James. It wasn’t. They used you, took so much from you. Don’t let them take a second more.”

James stared up at him, breathing deep, trying to let his mind accept the baron’s words – though a part of him, as usual, put on a fight.

When Zemo’s expression turned hesitant, James frowned at him. “What is it?” He knew that look. Zemo had figured something out, and it wasn’t good.

“James…” Zemo withdrew his hand. That’s how James knew this was serious.

“Tell me.”

Zemo gazed at him, his words soft. “When you look at me, are you reminded of the way I used you?”

James furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, gears turning until they clicked. “Zemo, this isn’t the same thing as Nakajima.”

“No? I was also on that list. I used you too. I am a constant reminder of the Winter Soldier fighting your own friends.”

“It’s not like that. I don’t feel… ashamed around you.”

Zemo frowned, clearly not convinced. “Perhaps you are lying to yourself. I may be another form of punishment for your subconsciousness.”

“Trust me, you’re not.”

“And if I am? If I make things worse because of our history?”

“When I look at you, I don’t think of Berlin, all those years ago.” James hesitated. “I think of Riga.” A smile crept onto his face. “Of the way you moved in that kitchen. Of the way you fought after Sharon's. The way you danced at that stupid party.” Zemo’s lips twitched into a smile for half a second. “I think of justice. Of honesty. I see someone who understands me. I know I was punishing myself with Nakajima. But with you… I’ve never been… I feel so…” James inhaled. He didn’t know how to put it into words. “I don’t need to pretend.”

He bit his lip.

“The others… everyone else… they always expect me to be someone I’m not… Steve always wanted his Bucky back. Raynor wants some integrated version of me to exist. Sam… well Sam wants me to be independent. He wants me to figure out who I am. But even with him, he just has these expectations… and still looks at me sometimes, like I’m a ticking time bomb. It feels like there’s a line, between us, because of our history.” James took another deep breath. “That doesn’t exist between us, Zemo. There’s no line. If there ever was, you completely obliterated it. Cut through it like a sword.”

“I didn’t.” Zemo brushed his fingers over his cheek. “You did.”

James found himself smirking. “At least one thing I did right.”

Zemo's gaze became hungry. “There are a lot of things you do right, James.”

“Stop flirting.” James couldn’t help his own grin. But then it faltered. “You sure I didn’t hurt you too bad?”

Zemo shook his head. “Small bruises at best. They’ll unfortunately be gone in a few days.”

“They better be. If Sam sees anything…”

Zemo chuckled. “We’ll be careful.”

“Yeah right. Sure we will.”

Zemo

Bucky’s ferocity was to die for. What Zemo wouldn't give to have that man choke him till the end of time... Even just the thought alone turned him on.

He would have let the man go harder if James had done so. Though as far as Zemo could tell, James had completely let go. That unrestrained rage… it delighted Zemo to see James release that anger, to let off all that steam. Zemo had seen it so long, sizzling under the surface here, and above all else in Madripoor. The man had been begging to let it all out. He'd seen it with his own eyes in that bar. All the repressed emotions of all these years kept pouring out, and now there was no end in sight.

Unlike the bar, however, this rage was not one of violence. It was passion. The fact that the baron was still drawing breath was proof of that.

But then there was this other side. The surprising softness of the same man who could break someone’s neck with one hand. The tenderness of his touch, his low voice, asking him if Zemo was okay, endlessly worrying about him… it cut right through to the deepest parts of Zemo, like a knife in the heart.

It’d been a long time since someone had cared for him so much, so deeply.

And long time since Zemo had cared for anything or anyone at all.

And he did care about James. He wanted to spoil him. Give him everything and more. Devour him.

It was uncanny, that this was mutual. He knew James deserved to be held, but Zemo delighted in his warmth as well, breathing in every moment next to him. Trying to remember how it felt, every time their fingers brushed, each trace of their skin, the feeling of his hair.

Zemo didn't know how long this would last, so he was going take every second to memory and lose himself in the past once this was over.

For now, though, James never gave him the impression that he’d gotten his fill. That he’d had enough, that the phase was over and done with.

No, James kept kissing him back every time with the same eagerness, surprising him with embraces from behind, kissing his neck the way Heike used to.

The flashbacks did not come as often as Zemo had expected, and he found himself being rather fond of the memories, instead of simply uneasy. It was a bittersweet sensation.

Most of the time, though, there was only James on his mind. It was hard not to, with James on him half the time. And it was easy to lose track of time, and even more so the number of times the super soldier had heaved him up into his room. Sometimes he lost his patience too soon and they’d ended up somewhere downstairs. On the couch, on the floor, in the garden… There was not a furniture of the house Zemo hadn’t been bent over or a wall he hadn’t been fucked against.

But in the evening, when they’d exhausted themselves out, after a long hot and steamy shower – which James always started alone before calling him in (Zemo didn’t ask) – they would lay side by side in warm clothes under the covers. The bed was like the calm after the storm. But it was also in these moments that fear washed over Zemo. How long was this going to hold? What might happen in a day? A week? A month?

A year?

“When you have had enough of this, James,” Zemo whispered, “I will cherish every moment in my memory.”

James held him tighter, groaning. “I don’t plan on letting you go any time soon.”

“Good,” Zemo mumbled, chest relaxing.

Maybe this was what it was like, to feel whole.

***

A few nights into the week, Zemo woke up to James muttering.

He groaned before realizing the man was mumbling Russian.

“James?” Zemo asked. Eyes still half-closed, he reached out, trying to find his face.

When he finally found the coarse cheek, he turned James to face him. Zemo watched James mumble under his breath with his eyes shut, something that sounded like ‘sandanye’. Zemo knew that word: mission.

“James…” He gently held his shoulder, softly shaking him. “Wake up, James.”

“Niet,” he groaned. “Niet.”

“James!” Zemo hissed.

Grudgingly, Bucky’s eyes opened. He looked completely out of it.

“James?”

“Hmm?”

“You were dreaming.”

James gazed at him, all sluggish. “Was I?”

“Yeah,” Zemo caressed his cheek. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked softly, eyelids heavy.

“I thought maybe you were having a nightmare.”

James made a low sound in his throat. “I don’t know, I can’t remember.” He frowned. “You’ll wake me, if it happens again?”

Zemo nodded.

“Thank you.” James mumbled, eyes fluttering. “And sorry.”

“For what?”

Zemo didn’t get a reply – James had already drifted off again.

He sighed, just as James moved closer, nuzzling into his neck. Zemo wrapped his arms around him, caressing his back until he too fell asleep.

***

Zemo would have worried about the nightmare, but James seemed as relaxed as ever the next morning, steadfast in his claim that he didn’t remember it.

Zemo believed him.

He hoped this was a good sign. That the nightmare wasn’t that bad. Not to mention James hadn't had any since they'd started sleeping together.

At the very least, James was at present awake and not a prisoner to his subconscious.

“Zemo?”

Zemo was just drinking his coffee, ordering some new things with James’ phone. He glanced up at him. The man was standing there guardedly, loosely holding the two paintball rifles Zemo had ordered.

“Do you wish you play?” Zemo asked, slowly lowering his mug. Zemo’s hope was that this would be something fun and gratifying. There was always a risk that came along with doing something so similar to a real gun fight, but Zemo had seen James shot those people in Madripoor. He'd seen the way he'd been so keen to kill Nagel. He was good with guns. James wasn’t in any danger. With a rifle in his hand, he was the danger. If anything, this was about James learning to trust himself. To do what he actually enjoyed instead of holding back because of some vague intangible fear of his past resurfacing. Fuck that.

James shrugged. “I’m open to trying.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I know you’ve got me. I know you'll make sure I’m good.”

Zemo returned a nod. “I will.”

James

James trusted him. As they made their way into the forest, he watched that hair flutter in the autumn wind. A paranoid part of him was warning him, going on about how Zemo had organized this in order to sabotage him. To thin the line between him and the Winter Soldier the same way meditation had.

But another louder part was convinced that Zemo was just trying to bring some joy into his life. Because god knew James needed it. And fighting was what he was good at. Hand-to-hand combat had felt like release. James could only hope that this would feel the same. Maybe even better.

“Alright,” Zemo picked an open spot surrounded by tall birch trees, leaves and moss covering the ground all around them. The forest had mostly dried from the downpour from the days before. James couldn’t help but smile as the former colonel checked his ammunition and his gun. “Are you ready?”

“So how does this work, I give you twenty seconds to make a run for it?” James smirked. Hunting Zemo sounded like the most delicious entertainment.

“Whatever you wish,” Zemo told him, gazing up at him with those eyes, with that smile that made Bucky’s heart flutter.

He couldn’t help himself when he grabbed back of the baron’s head and pulled him in to kiss him. “Alright.”

“Whistle, if you want or need to stop,” those soft eyes dashed between his, a warm hand brushing his cheek, “I will come find you.”

“Okay.”

With that, Zemo nodded and headed off across the forest. James watched him leave before stepping behind a tree and leaning against the trunk. He traced the fake gun with his fingertips, feeling the plastic material. He hated that holding it felt good, despite how fake it was.

But how much was that him and how much was that the Winter Soldier?

Just let go, he told himself as he closed his eyes and took deep breaths. If things went wrong, Zemo would bring him back, he knew that.

After another inhale, he finally opened his eyes and lifted his weapon. He leaned around the tree, looking through the scope at the seemingly empty forest.

His hands weren’t shaking, his aim was steady. This was something he was good at.

Only good at it because of the Winter Soldier, the back of his mind provided.

Suddenly something hit him in his shoulder. He glanced at his jacket to see a splatter of purple.

“A bit rusty!” the baron’s playful voice called through the cool air.

“You better watch out,” James shouted back. “We both know it doesn’t take much for me to fall back into form.”

No snarky reply came after that.

That’s what I thought.

James got back into position and aimed. This time, he noticed the figure carefully leaning into view.

He pulled the trigger first, catching the baron in his arm.

He heard the grunt across their distance.

“Gotcha.” He smirked in satisfaction.

Using Zemo’s moment of recuperation, he quickly dashed out of his cover and advanced towards Zemo’s tree, rifle still up.

The baron appeared a moment later, rapid firing on him, having clearly suspected his move. James got hit twice before he quickly dove aside to avoid the next few shoots. He took aim himself, going straight for the chest.

He caught Zemo but that didn’t stop the baron from shooting still, even as he started hastily stepping back as James advanced on him. Zemo got him on his hip. He got Zemo on the leg.

Zemo finally spun around and made a run for it.

James didn’t bother running. He marched.

And he felt powerful.

He watched as the baron hurried over the woodland path and right for a boulder. He jumped over the huge rock, sliding behind it.

“That’s it?” James laughed as he lifted his rifle and fired, splattering the rock with green paint, slowly walking to his hiding spot. “You just gonna run and hide like a little baby?”

He saw the gun appear on the stone, set up like a sniper rifle. Zemo got him in his chest twice. James glanced down at the blotches with a sigh. The gun disappeared again.

James walked on, breaking into a jog as he hurried around the boulder with his gun up. But Zemo was already gone. Sneaky bastard.

James looked around, putting up his guard. Zemo could be anywhere.

He tread stealthily, careful where he stepped. All the while, he moved with efficiency and fluidity, keeping up his aim at all times. Even his breaths became silent, his hot exhales only visible in the cold air.

The only sound he could hear coming from himself was own heart, pumping and pounding in his ears.

Every snap and crack of the forest got his attention. At any moment, the baron might appear out of nowhere.

A small fear was there, that Zemo had disappeared entirely. But James tried to push that intrusive thought aside.

He almost sighed in relief when he finally found the baron, crouching behind a tree, looking in the opposite direction.

It was like his whole body shifted into stealth mode as he advanced slowly. It almost felt out of body experience as he approached without making the slightest sound.

The baron inhaled sharply when James pressed the barrel of his gun against the back of his neck.

“Well, well, well…” he started. “What have we here?”

Zemo started to turn his head but James gave him a warning push.

“Drop the gun,” James ordered.

The moment the words had left his mouth, a new feeling of exhilaration raced through him. He could get used to this.

Zemo started to lower his hands to place it on the ground.

“Slowly.”

Zemo gave a silent chuckle and exaggerated his slowed movement.

“You think this is funny?”

“No, of course not. Sir,” Zemo replied, overplaying his seriousness.

Once the gun was on the ground, James grabbed him by the back of his coat and pushed him to his knees. “On your knees. Hands up.”

Zemo lifted his hands in surrender, shuddering. James could feel the baron hold back a whine. “Mercy,” he muttered, breathlessly, “please.”

James clearly made out the undertone of lust in that voice.

“Why would I show you mercy?”

“I have… money. I come from a wealthy family, you know. If you spare me… I will see to it that your are compensated generously.”

James thrust his gun forward, forcing Zemo on all fours. The baron let out something that James could only describe as a moan. “I’m not interested in money.”

“Please,” Zemo breathed out. “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything, you say?”

James grabbed his coat again, this time suddenly pulling him back and flipping him around, smacking his back down on the leaves. The breath was pushed from Zemo’s lungs as he lay there, hands up, cheeks all rosy from the cold and probably from more.

Seeing the way the baron was looking up at him, it was harder to stay in character. He couldn't help but smile down at him. “What could you even offer that’s worth my time?”

Zemo broke character completely then. He grabbed his cheeks and pulled him down. His kiss was possessive and hungry. Zemo fumbled to grab on to James’ collar to pull him even closer. James barely noticed the way Zemo’s other hand searched around on the forest floor.

Before he knew it, Zemo had pushed him back up and was pressing his own gun right to James’ chest.

“I won,” he smirked, out of breath.

James smiled before swiftly grabbing the gun by the barrel and yanking it from his grasp, hurling it across the forest floor. Zemo watched it clatter further off, gulping and looking all flustered. One of Zemo's best looks.

Then James grabbed his wrists and smacked them onto the forest floor as he straddled him, forcing the baron's attention back to him. “You think so?”

He leaned down, which only made Zemo tilt his head up again, in a dire attempt to capture his lips. The baron was so predictable sometimes.

“Well?”

“Sorry, what was the question?”

James laughed, shaking his head. “Never mind.” With that, he finally allowed himself to close the distance, pressing his body down to grind against him, delighting in the sounds the baron made.

Funny how the air seemed to heat up when they were touching, kissing, fucking. Paint got everywhere but neither cared. All James could feel were the baron’s hands, all he could hear were his groans. Time and place held no more meaning when Zemo brought him here, all the way up here. When Zemo made him see sparks. Made him forget.

What was less fun was scrubbing it all off in the shower after, which was another task altogether. James asked Zemo to wait outside as he cleaned off his arm. It made him feel horrible, but the idea of Zemo seeing him like this was worse. It wasn't like Riga, where the Dora Milaje had snapped off his arm where the vibranium clicked in place. No, he had to take it off completely to wash himself, down to the skin. He hated it, but it wasn't like he had a choice.

But Zemo didn’t seem to mind waiting, nor did he ask about it. He only smiled when James finally called him and pulled him in under the hot water.

“Did you enjoy it?” Zemo asked.

“Enjoy what?” James asked as he tried removing some paint from Zemo’s cheek. The baron had to be more specific than that.

“The paintball.”

“I did.” James smiled at him. He had. “Thank you.”

He leaned in and kissed him, the baron kissing him back in kind. James pushed him against the tiles and Zemo groaned.

James couldn't get enough of the baron. His smell haunted him, though maybe that was just the traces of his cologne spread throughout the house. It made James hungry for him. He wanted to bite into that skin until he saw blood. But he made do with fucking him until the baron didn't have a coherent thought in that sassy brain of his.

Seeing Zemo completely blissed out and sweaty and almost half-conscious against the walls or the shower or under him in bed, it did things to James. Feral things. It only got him more turned on, which in turn made him want to go for another round, to the baron's detriment. Or maybe not. The guy never complained. He kept kissing him, wrapping his arms around like he wanted this, like he wanted all of it. He kept asking for more.

Sometimes, he whispered Sokovian into Bucky's ear. James only understood the occasional word, but it was enough to get his heart racing.

Touch me.

Hold me.

Take me.

It was no surprise that they made love. A lot. Neither really had the sense to hold back. And it didn’t help that Sam texted James early that week to let him know he wouldn’t be able to make his weekly visit that Sunday, due to a mission. James couldn’t deny he enjoyed the company, but keeping this a secret weighed on him.

But being with Zemo on its own? It made everything lighter. Like James didn’t need to worry about the past or the future. He could just be here. And Zemo seemed to remind him to make the most of every second too, because the fucking baron never stopped spoiling him.

All the fucking shit he got… James wondered if those in charge of his unofficial house arrest knew about the sudden expenses – well over hundreds of dollars worth of deliveries every single fucking day.

Zemo got ingredients for one dish after the next. Taiwanese, Mexican, Wakandan, Greek.

Also, lube.

Vinyls. From the forties, from the eighties, and modern stuff James had never heard of before.

Some more fancy lube.

A fifty inch TV.

More lube.

A stack of DVDs, based on the list in James’ notebook and more.

And all these drinks…

Zemo always made an event of it, going all bartender in the evening. Sometimes he felt groovy and made cocktails, other times he felt fancy and opened some old wine bottles.

He was a sight to behold as he worked away. James always lounged on the couch as he watched the baron. Zemo knew he was watching, because of course he did. And he loved it.

So did James.

“Here you go,” Zemo said as he passed him a fancy martini glass.

As per usual, Zemo put on a record. With soft music playing, the smell of dinner cooking in the oven, and all the indoor plants he’d gotten too, the house was really slowly starting to feel like a real home.

The baron set his glass away to get to work, heaving up the TV on the blank wall while James slowly drank and watched him.

“It's not breaking the rules if you just don't watch cable,” the guy had told him, sounding all proud of himself for figuring out a workaround to James’ stupid therapy rules.

At least this time, the baron had promised he’d be the one to set it up.

“It’s tilted on the right side,” James told him, smirking as he took another sip.

Zemo huffed as he tried to adjust, the huge screen looking pretty heavy. Well, James told himself, he’s the one who bought the big ass thing.

The baron managed to tilt it.

James chuckled. “No, other way.”

Zemo grunted. “You're enjoying this, aren't you?”

“Oh yes.”

When Zemo finally finished setting it up, he allowed himself to delight in his drink, swaying to the music.

And, as per usual, James couldn’t hold back from giving in to temptation. He couldn't help himself when Zemo was dancing. He rose up up from the couch and gently embracing Zemo from behind, pressing his chin down in his neck as they swayed.

These kind of things felt easy again, like it did in the forties.

“I still can't believe I get to have this,” James admitted quietly.

Zemo placed his glass on the dining table and turned to him, wrapping his arms around his neck as they swayed to the easy tempo. “Nor can I. You are a far better man than I, James. I do not deserve you.” He glanced at his lips. “Or something this good.”

“Neither do I.”

That genuinely made Zemo laugh. “I am not that good for you, James. I came here to help you and all I am doing is throwing myself at you.”

“You're the best thing that's happened to me in a long, long time.”

Zemo shook his head.

“Don’t do that,” James said, a little smirk on his lips as he pressed his face to the baron's cheek.

“Do what, James?”

“Get all cranky on me.”

“What are you going to do, punish me?”

James smiled.

Zemo

James didn’t punish him. Far from it. He indulged him, gave him everything he could have ever imagined and more. And he seemed to enjoy doing so.

These days truly were ethereal. The joy Bucky exuded surprised even the baron. Zemo had expected for his little ideas and activities to help the man, but even he hadn’t expected it all to work so well. He could tell by the way James smiled as they tended to the garden, by the way he sighed in satisfaction as they lay side by side, by the excitement he radiated each time they headed to the forest. The paintball had been a particular pleasant surprise. It was working wonders. James seemed more and more open to indulging himself. To actually allowing himself to have fun.

At times, even Zemo felt some ease, despite the lingering suspicions of the parole conditions, always at the back of his mind. He found himself thinking about it at times, even now, as he sneaked his way across the woods, seeking out the super soldier.

But of course, Bucky found him first, suddenly tackling him from behind, paintball rifles forgotten as he pressed him to the ground, laughing triumphantly from above.

The sound of that laughter was music to Zemo’s ears. He sometimes had to fight not to tear up at the sight of the man’s joy. To think that, after so many years of torture there was still hope…

Zemo started believing in that hope too.

After another long day, they settled into Bucky's bed together, warm in their pajamas, Zemo lighting a scented candle to soften the atmosphere.

Kissing him in that bed still felt like the first time, over and over again. Even after almost two whole weeks, Zemo still couldn’t get enough. It was all so soft and tender, it melted his heart.

“Good night, James,” he whispered softly, before capturing his lips again. His hunger was insatiable.

“Good night, Helmut.”

The warmth of Bucky's voice sent shivers up his spine. The super soldier kissed him again, and it felt like the world dissolved around him.

When Zemo reopened his eyes, James was cupping him from behind and the candle had already burned out. He must have fallen asleep.

He exhaled comfortably, about to let himself drift off again when he heard James mumble.

Russian, again.

So that was what had woken him up in the first place.

Zemo turned to James, who was muttering again.

“James,” Zemo groaned, blinking, trying to get rid of the drowsiness. “James. Bucky.” Zemo shook his arm slightly.

The moment James’ eyes opened, Zemo know something was wrong.

But he didn’t get time to think.

James was up and on him before he could even blink. The man straddled him, wrapped his metallic hand around his throat and pressed hard.

“James!” Zemo heaved as he fought to pull the arm away.

He felt it clamp down on his windpipe, choking him. Not like James usually did.

This was different.

This was deadly.

“James!” he wheezed, feeling his head turn red even as he continued to struggle, kicking his legs. But it was useless. Above him, the man didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t even flinch, a cold look in his eyes.

Zemo knew that look.

The Winter Soldier.

Zemo felt stars around his vision and quickly changed his approach. He desperately fumbled for the gun under James’ pillow next to him.

He felt the metal against his fingers, struggling to grasp the handle as the world spun.

That was when the Soldier realized what he was doing.

He dove for the gun too. Instead of fighting him for it in vain, Zemo used the split second of the Soldier's distraction to push himself off the bed, knees smacking hard on the floor before he scrambled towards the door on all fours. Zemo grasped the doorknob and hauled himself up, just as he heard the gun click behind him.

Heart hammering against his chest, he glanced back. He was frozen, like a deer in headlights, looking down the barrel of a gun.

His breath caught in his chest.

This was the memorial.

Only this time it wasn’t James holding the gun. It was the Winter Soldier.

“James.”

The man didn’t reply. He gaze remained emotionless as he aimed for Zemo’s chest and pulled the trigger.

Chapter Text

Zemo

Zemo rushed down the stairs so fast he fell half the way. He couldn’t waste a second, not even to watch the Soldier realize the gun wasn’t loaded.

The super soldier was already right behind him as Zemo crashed onto the ground floor. He grabbed the painting on the wall next to the stairs and bashed it against the man behind him.

The Winter Solder simply slapped the canvas aside, ripping it as he stepped on it to get to him. Zemo ran around the couch, almost falling against the coffee table.

“James,” he huffed, one hand up in defense. He gulped, his throat already stinging. “Wake up!”

The Winter Soldier showed no signs of acknowledging him. Those heavy steps followed him with murderous determination.

Zemo could barely breathe as he hurried to the kitchen. It wasn’t just the choking that was making it hard to catch his breath. This sudden flip in personality had kindled an ache in his chest so heavy it made it hard to focus.

He almost reached the cabinets when a warm hand grabbed his short sleeve, yanking his arm back. Zemo managed to thrash out of the grasp, ripping his shirt in the process.

Zemo threw himself at the counter to grab one of the knives. He let out a groan of relief when he managed to grab one. He spun back to the Winter Soldier, holding up in warning. Before he’d even blinked, the super soldier had grabbed his wrist.

“James,” he tried again, wincing when that hand squeezed tighter. Those eyes were dark, void of emotion.

The soldier twisted, hard.

Zemo yelped, letting the knife go instinctively. The soldier caught the knife mid-fall.

The baron knew what was coming a split second before it did.

He snatched a cutting board just in time. He barely managed to protect himself from the Soldier's stab.

The blade struck the board like a shield.

But the soldier didn't give Zemo any time to recuperate. He thrust at him again and again, attacking him fast as lightning. Zemo dodged one assault, another. Blocked another two. The next strike came out of nowhere. The soldier cut his skin, slashing him across the arm faster than Zemo could protect himself.

Zemo inhaled in surprise, the momentary freeze enough for the soldier to grab the board and haul it across the kitchen. But Zemo used that moment too. He  jumped over the kitchen island, scrambled over to the window, stuck his hand into a flower pot and pulled out a gun, aiming it at the Soldier.

The super soldier started marching around the counter towards him, unbothered.

“Enough! Ustupátʹ, zimniy soldat!”

The Soldier finally, finally paused.

“That’s right,” Zemo gasped quickly, realizing his voice was shaking. His hands weren’t much better. He could barely aim with this amount of trembling. And his throat was on fire. “You remember me?” He slowly stepped back from the threat as he spoke. He could feel warm blood dripping from his arm, leaving a trail on the floor. “I am your handler, hmm?”

The change in the Soldier’s composure was a sight to see. One second the man was tall, determined, a ruthless killing machine with murder being his only intent, and then, all of a sudden, his composure crumbled. His eyes went big with insecurity and shame, his breathing quickening.

“Obra… botchik?”

He muttered some more Russian Zemo didn’t understand, looking around as if taking in his surroundings for the first time.

“Do you know where you are?”

The Soldier looked terrified now, his eyes scared, arms trembling.

Zemo found himself slowly lowering his aim. He didn’t know what was compelling him to do so, but the man across the room from him now did not look like a killer. “It’s alright, I won’t hurt you.”

“What… what was the mission?” the man asked in a rusty voice.

“Mission, no, there is no mission.” He kept a tight grasp on his gun at his side. He looked down at it, only then noticing how much he’d bled on the floor. The beautiful parquet...

He heard steps, raising his weapon as he glanced back up to see the Winter Soldier coming closer.

The super soldier slowed down. “I hurt you,” he said in an uncertain voice, glancing between his eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

Zemo lowered his gun again.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, even if, with the choking, adrenaline crash, blood loss, and emotional distress, he knew he was a few minutes away from collapsing. The world was already spinning, his vision tunneling.

He shook his head to get rid of the wave of dizziness. When he blinked and looked back up, the Winter Soldier was gone.

Zemo exhaled, stumbling back and pressing himself against the wall, letting himself slide down.

He was going to let his eyes rest. Just for a moment. Just to take a breather.

***

Zemo groaned as he felt a warm body press to his, two arms heaving him up. The baron blinked, confused about where he was or what was happening. All he knew was that James had picked him up and was laying him out on the dining table like a meal.

“Not sanitary,” Zemo groaned, before everything turned dark again.

When he came to, he felt a warm hand wrapping a bandage around his arm. The pain of the cut finally woke him up. The lights of the living room were blinding as he blinked up at James. “James?”

“I’m not James,” the man above said.

Not- What-

Fuck.

Zemo suddenly remembered everything. He quickly checked for his gun, only exhaling when he found it on the table next to him. Not like the thing was any use though. He’d thrown the ammunition away a long time ago. He’d done a few things James didn’t know about. He had snooped around, when he’d first gotten here. He hadn’t been surprised to find all those guns. It was a paranoid habit he understood. Taking out the ammo had been both a move of self-preservation and a way to keep violence away from what was supposed to be a retreat from it for James.

When he’d found that gun under Bucky's pillow, the same instincts had kicked in. This wasn’t a warzone. This was James’ home. Getting a work-life balance was important. Zemo had learned that the hard way.

The Soldier finished wrapping up his bandage without a word. He did not let his touch linger after he was done. He pulled his hands away, walking to the kitchen. “You need to hydrate,” he said without a sliver of emotion.

Zemo slowly pressed himself up to sit on the table, and watched the super soldier make him a hot cup of tea with honey. It was a fascinating thing to see: the Winter Soldier knew where everything in the kitchen was.

When he was done, he slowly stepped up to Zemo and handed him a steaming mug.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, after Zemo had taken a few sips.

“You stopped, that is what matters,” Zemo replied.

The Soldier frowned down at the ground. “I got confused. I need… I need to be wiped. Reset.”

“Why were you confused?” Zemo asked, watching him blink at the floor.

“I don’t remember… I don’t know how I got here. Where I am. What the mission is.”

“How did you know where to find the first aid kit? The tea bags and the honey?”

The Winter Soldier frowned at him. “I just knew. I can’t explain it.”

“Interesting,” Zemo muttered as he drank. “What is the last thing you remember?”

“I was in a forest, hunting… and then I suddenly woke up in that bed.”

“You were dreaming, soldat.”

The soldier frowned at him. “I don’t understand.”

Zemo tilted his head, squinting his eyes. “Do you often wake up, not knowing where you are?”

“Yes,” he said. “I wake up here. In that room, in that bed. But I...” He shook his head.  “I don’t understand.”

“How many times have you woken up here?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered quietly.

“That’s okay. What do you usually do, when you wake up here?”

“I stay where I am?” the man muttered, almost like he was afraid he was confessing to a crime. “I don’t remember my orders. I need to be reset.”

Zemo hummed. “Do you remember me?” he dared ask.

The soldier frowned at him, eyes darting between his. “Mission report… 1991?”

“Yes, that one.” Zemo nodded, setting down his mug. “Help me onto the couch won’t you?”

Zemo expected the man to simply support him with his arm. Instead, the soldier dove one arm under his knees and held him close. The Winter Soldier carried him bridal style, gentle as he marched him over to the couch and let him down with a softness that surprised even Zemo.

It was such a contrast, seeing the ruthless Winter Soldier and yet being privy to a tenderness that almost rivaled James.

The Soldier sat down on the hard floor, next to his legs. He cast a glance at the gun in Zemo’s hand.

That was when the baron noticed that he was shivering.

“Are you cold?”

The soldier shook his head, back to staring at the floor as he tightly held his knees to his chest. “I’m ready for nakazaniye, sir.”

Zemo needed moment to remember what the word meant. “Punishment?”

“It was bad, harming a handler,” he mumbled factually, though Zemo could make out the slight tension in his tone. The Soldier gulped. “I’m not supposed to do that.”

Zemo found himself reaching out, ghosting his fingers over that hair. The soldier tensed. “I won’t hurt you.”

He gently stroked through his strands. He couldn't help himself. He was mesmerized by the sight and surprised at his own emotions. He cared for this man, a by-product of Hydra.

He still loved him.

“You did well, soldier,” Zemo found himself saying. The soldier shook his head, hiding his face in the fabric of the couch. “You did a very good job, taking care of me.”

The man shivered and finally relaxed into his touch, even pressing his head up into Zemo’s hand.

It made the baron chuckle softly. Maybe James and the Winter Soldier weren't so dissimilar after all.

***

James

James felt like shit.

A migraine was pounding in his head and he was— he blinked. He was sitting?

He groaned, a cushion pressing up against his cheek.

That was when he felt the weight of a warm hand on his head. As he glanced up at the faintly lit living room, it glided down and fell to the side. He turned to see Zemo, sleeping silently on the sofa, chest rising and dipping slowly.

But that wasn’t what made James’ heart drop.

It was the blood covering the baron’s ripped shirt, a bandage wrapped around his arm. The blooming redness on his neck.

He quickly grabbed Zemo’s hand. “Zemo?”

Zemo jerked awake. “Hmm?” he rasped.

James felt his heart racing from one second to the next. “What the hell happened?”

Zemo’s look was all the explanation James needed.

The Winter Soldier had been here.

Fury took him like a raging fire. The world collapsed around him. He couldn't breathe anymore. “I need some air.”

He got up and marched right on out and into the shed, grabbed an axe and went at it, hitting some poor piece of wood into splinters, over and over again, screaming into the void every time the axe came down.

He kept at it until his hand was bleeding. Yet even then, he still felt it, that horrid sensation in his chest. His wrath was still there, still barely tempered.

But he couldn’t let it out in any way that was going to make him feel better. He couldn’t kill the one being he hated most because that being was inside of him. The very monster he could never touch – the Winter Soldier.

Zemo

Zemo heard him all the way into the house, the screams of guttural anger, the thumps of him hitting something to oblivion.

He gripped the counter as he waited for the water to boil. He knew it would only be a few hours before his throat would really start killing him. He needed some more tea. And so, it seemed, did James.

After a while, the thuds and cries subsided.

Zemo allowed himself to step out onto the terrace, wrapping his robe tight around him. It was freezing.

James was sitting on the veranda stairs with his back to him, leaning against the railing, head down, sniffling, rubbing his flesh hand.

“Go away,” he groaned.

“James…”

“I said go away,” he snapped, before pressing his face into his hands. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You won’t.” Zemo approached slowly. “I trust you. And I want to help you. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Help me… unless I kill you in my sleep on the way there, is that it?”

“The Soldier won’t kill me,” he reassured him.

Bucky hit the railing hard. “You don’t know that.” He finally turned around to glare up at him. “You were almost dead when I woke up!”

Zemo slowly sat down next to him, exhaling and tilting his head. “Well, he did catch me by surprise.”

James grasped the baron by his robe. For a second, Zemo wondered if he was going to throttle him. Instead, James simply buried his face into the fabric. “I can’t lose you too. Please. Don’t do this to me.” He was shaking as he sobbed silently.

“I won’t leave, James,” Zemo said, breathing in his hair, holding him. Bucky seemed so terrified, even more than the Winter Soldier had been.

“I can’t wake up one day, and…” James shuddered.

“That won’t happen.”

James shook his head quickly. “You can’t stay here. I won’t let him kill you. I can't.”

Zemo sighed. “James… listen to me.” He cupped his cheeks to force his tear-streaked eyes to meet his gaze. “He won’t kill me. I know that, because he recognized me.” Zemo paused with another little sigh. “I was not the one who tended to my wounds, James. He was the one who patched me up.”

James leaned back, blinking at him in confusion. “What?”

“The Winter Soldier… his attack was… instinctual. When he recognized me, he stopped.”

James grunted in discontent. “When you say recognize, you mean he remembered you as…”

Zemo hesitated. “Yes. But at the very least, that means he is no threat to me.”

Bucky glared at him in disbelief. “Zemo. You can’t be serious.”

“I trust you. I trust him.”

“I almost killed you!”

“He, James, not you. Besides, define 'almost'. I am quite sure I am nowhere near death's doorstep. Also, as we have established, the attack was clearly done in a momentary fit of passion.”

“Zemo, look, I don’t want you to go… it’s the last thing I want, but… and I know I said I’d never send you back, and I know you think you’re safe, but… I can’t… I can’t let him take you from me.”

“He can’t,” Zemo smirked, pressing his hand to Bucky’s chest. “I’m always here.”

“Cut the romantic bullshit, Zemo.” James diverted his gaze. “I wouldn’t survive that and you know it.”

“And you call what I say romantic... James, I do not plan on letting him take my life, even if he tries to again. But if you do not have faith in him, have at least a bit of faith in me, James. I can defend myself.” James gazed at him. “If there is a next time, I will be better prepared.”

“When,” James corrected him with a sniff. “Besides. I know you’re good, Zemo. At fighting. But still, you’re no super soldier. You’re no match for him.”

Zemo gave him a mischievous smile, lifting his finger. “Not if we balance the scales by taking precautions.”

“Like what?”

“Like perhaps taking the arm off for the night.”

James did a double take. “Take it off?”

“If you are serious about not harming me, maybe we could start there.”

James glanced at the baron’s neck. “Yeah, okay,” he croaked before the tears came again.

Zemo wrapped his arms around him. James hugged him back. “I’m not leaving,” he told him, more fact than reassurance, leaving no room for debate. “And I never plan to.”

Chapter Text

James

“James, come inside.”

James groaned but let the baron help him up and pull him back into the warmth of the house.

For the first time since his emotional outbreak, James took in a full view of the interior. The painting from the wall had been ripped down, there were traces of blood on the parquet, and one of his guns was on the coffee table.

“What happened to the painting?” James crouched down to heave up the broken canvas.

“Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was just, throwing anything I could get my hands on at the Winter Soldier.”

James closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to hold himself back from another round of rage. Even just the mere idea of the Soldier hunting Zemo like an animal… It made shivers run up Bucky’s spine, and not the good kind.

“I hated this piece anyway. Too much going on.”

“It’s no Pollock,” Zemo added. Fucking artsy Zemo at it again. “You said this came with the house, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you indulge me, James?”

James felt like bashing his own head into the wall. “What do you want, Helmut?”

Zemo held out his hand. James knew what that meant. He went to grab his phone. By the time he was back, Zemo was looking down at the painting that he’d had laid on the floor, having placed the two pieces back next to each other.

James pressed the phone into Zemo’s hand. “Please don’t order a new one.”

He watched the baron hover the camera over the canvas.

“What are you doing?”

“Research.” He typed away. James could barely see the screen. “Fascinating,” he mumbled.

“What is it?”

“The painting. It is an abstract expressionism piece entitled Chaos, meant to represent loss of control and total disorder.”

James glanced at the canvas and the complete disarray of vividly aggressive colors. “No shit. Why do you care what it’s called?”

Zemo smirked at him, tossing the phone back. “Curiosity.”

“I’m throwing it out,” James said, leaving no room for debate as he pocketed the phone. He dove down and picked up the pieces. It was the right decision, he could tell by the weight lifted off his shoulders once it was finally out of the house. He didn’t know why he’d even kept it this whole time. Why did he even keep things around that he didn’t like?

Probably the same reason he hadn’t called Zemo sooner.

Because he believed he didn’t deserve good things.

By the time James got back, Zemo was sipping tea on the couch.

James wavered as he drew closer. As soon as he was in arm’s reach, the baron grabbed him and pulled him down to sit. James begrudgingly did so, giving him some space. Who knew if the Winter Soldier suddenly returned… James couldn't take any chances. If he was ever going to sleep again, he was going to do so down here, with Zemo safe upstairs.

“Have some,” Zemo said as he passed James his own mug.

He blinked at the baron. It was such a small thing, sharing a mug, especially after everything they’d done up till now, but the offer caused a warmth to spread in his chest where only cold had been since he’d woken up.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, trying to let the hot tea soothe his nerves.

They stayed there, drinking in comfortable silence, Zemo moving closer and leaning on his shoulder, as if seeking his touch. James didn’t understand it. It was as if Zemo wasn’t even the slightest bit afraid that the Soldier might return.

And James knew he had to be careful, but even he gave in to the longing to have Zemo near. He cupped the baron’s wrist, hand warm on his skin. He turned his hand around, stroking the baron’s palm with his thumb. “I’m not going to sleep tonight.” He found his fingers trailing up his arm, up over his shoulder. He gently traced his cheek and the stubble there. Zemo pressed into his touch, leaning into it as he closed his eyes. It made his throat more visible, and the blooming red there. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. I’ll fucking kill him if he touches you again.”

“James,” Zemo groaned. “Stop.” James hesitated as he paused with tracing the baron’s skin. Zemo opened his eyes and met his gaze with that look. “When will you see in yourself what I see when I look at you?”

“I’m not delusional, Helmut. I see what’s really there. A monster.”

“You are so far removed from reality, James, it would almost be amusing were it not so heartbreaking. You are a better man than I could ever be. Despite all odds, despite everything they did to you, you came out of it kind, compassionate, human. Better than anyone I know. Much better than myself.”

“Stop it, Zemo.”

“No,” Zemo said quietly.

James shook his head. “You should hate me.”

Zemo turned to make a mumbled sound into his palm. “It appears to me that we are very alike in that sense, James, seeing only the best in the other and the worst in ourselves.”

James gazed at him for a while, mulling over his words.

Seemed like they were a match made in heaven, huh.

The baron wasn’t wrong. James didn’t just hate the Winter Soldier. He hated himself for not putting up more of a fight against Hydra. For falling for their crap programming. For being weak.

And as if that wasn't enough, he hated his physical self too. The scars that they’d left behind, a permanent reminder of what they’d done to him – what he’d endured and let them do to him.

He didn’t want to think about it, but now he didn’t have a choice. Zemo looked tired. He needed his sleep. And James needed to watch over him. And he couldn’t allow himself to do so with his vibranium arm still attached.

James took a deep breath, forcing himself to take a leap off of the deep end.

“You must be exhausted,” he said softly.

Zemo let out a breathless laugh. “You always manage to make a mess of me, James.”

James groaned. Instead of letting Zemo lead the way up, he pulled him close, dove his arm under his knees and heaved him up.

“James, this his hardly necessary.”

“I know,” he said softly as he brought the baron upstairs.

Zemo didn’t complain after that, instead pressing his cheek to his chest and wrapping his arms around his neck.

As soon as they’d crossed the threshold of his room, he let the baron down.

He realized only then how fast his heart was beating. And it wasn’t because of the physical exertion. It was the looming knowledge of what was about to come.

“I know you will not sleep tonight,” Zemo said, “but will you stay with me?”

James nodded. He couldn’t let the baron out of his sight anyway. Not tonight, when he’d just gone through all of this. It wasn't like the baron was anywhere close to death's door by any means - James shuddered at the thought - but he still was jittery, terrified that something would happen.

While Zemo slowly changed by the bed, James moved into the bathroom to do the same and slowly, ever so slowly, start unclasping his arm.

He hated this, and he hated how much this was affecting him. It wasn’t fucking important. This was for the baron’s protection. And it wasn’t a big deal, not compared to what had happened tonight.

He tried to tell himself that over and over again, and still, somehow, his body and his emotions decided that this was, in fact, a big deal.

Zemo probably knew about it too. For goodness sake, James never asked Zemo to join at the beginning of showers. James wasn’t sure if Zemo knew exactly why that was, but still.

And he knew he’d never ask. He’d wait for James to come to him.

To cross that line.

He could feel Zemo watch him lean against the sink, unclasping the metal arm slowly.

James shot him a quick glance. He was sitting on the side of the bed, observing. James turned to glare at his reflection before getting back to work.

“Do you need help?” Zemo offered.

“No, it’s okay.”

He cleared his throat and cracked his neck as he forced himself to continue.

He hated this so much.

He knew Zemo wouldn’t give a fuck about how he looked. But James did. He didn’t know why. But he did.

At long last, the last latch clicked off.

For some reason, he felt nauseous.

He cleared his throat again as he pulled the arm off. All that was left were some screw holes into his flesh. Not some smooth vibranium surface, like when Ayo had torn off the arm. He hadn’t even known it could be taken off like that.

But this? This looked ugly.

But right now he needed to take it off completely. Otherwise, the Winter Soldier might just grab the arm and click it into place. Putting it on like this took more time and dexterity. Not a task for the Winter Soldier if he was in a hurry.

Winter Soldier...

James blinked. He thought he saw himself marching down stairs, and figure fleeing away, down in front of him.

“James?”

James blinked and he was back in the bathroom.

Zemo

It dawned slowly on him at first, before hitting him all at once. This was why James had always held him back from joining him in the shower early. His arm. Of course.

Zemo had been so accustomed to seeing him with the prosthetic, that it had been hard to imagine it was not integral to his being.

It looked uncanny, detached from him.

James looked up to find him staring. “Here.” James suddenly threw it at him.

Zemo barely caught it in time, weighing it in his hands. It was smooth and warm. “I must say, it is much lighter than I expected.”

“Vibranium's pretty light.”

Zemo gave him a knowing smile. “Of course.” He watched as Bucky quickly pulled on a tee-shirt and brushed the fabric to cover his stump. “May I ask you something?”

“That’s already a question,” James answered without looking up, hand leaning on the sink.

“Does it ever hurt?”

The hand grasping the sink tightened. Zemo gulped despite himself, ghost of pain rushing up his throat. A Pavlovian response to the flex of those hands, he realized. His body already knew Bucky could easily kill him with those fingers alone. And though his throat hurt, Zemo couldn’t help but feel flustered at the thought. But he pushed it aside.

“Occasionally,” James finally admitted. He splashed water onto his face. Zemo wasn’t sure if that hand was shaking.

“I am sorry,” Zemo looked down at the metal in his grasp, running his fingers over the plates. “About your arm.”

When James didn’t respond, Zemo looked back up at him. He was staring at his dripping face in the mirror. Slowly, he left the bathroom, carefully taking the arm from Zemo and placing it on the desk.

“James? What is it?”

Something was wrong. Zemo could feel it in the air between them, in the way James moved and stayed silent. It wasn’t like him.

“It was a long time ago,” James muttered, back still to him.

“That does not make it any less significant,” Zemo said. “In all that time, and with everything that had happened since, have you even had a moment to grieve that physical loss?”

James breathed slowly. “It kinda took the back seat, what with my deprogramming and everything.”

“It’s the little things.”

James didn’t answer. Zemo watched his hand reach up and brush his cheek, as if to wipe away a tear.

Zemo worked on autopilot as he reached for Bucky's wrist and pulled him around, before wrapping his arms around the man, holding him close.

Bucky pressed his face to him, careful not to come in contact with his tender throat.

James

He didn't know what he'd done to deserve this. Someone who cared for him, who cared for whatever or whoever he'd become. It wasn't fair. Zemo gave so much, and what did he get in return? He got beat up by the Winter Soldier.

And even then, he remained so fucking compassionate. Like he really believed that what had happened hadn't been James' fault.

James exhaled as Zemo coaxed him backwards and onto the bed.

It felt weird and uncanny, having only one arm in Zemo's presence. He settled next to the baron so that his stump was on the other side.

Everything was so off-balance. He almost felt naked, like Zemo hadn’t ever lain next to him.

It kinda felt like he was drowning. He couldn’t breathe.

He gulped, failing to inconspicuously place his hand over where the metal merged with flesh.

Before he could really come to terms with lying next to the baron like this, soft lips were on his, hands stroking his hair like James hadn’t almost killed the baron a few hours ago.

“Okay?” Zemo asked softly as he leaned up.

James nodded, before being the one to tip his head up now.

As they made out, he felt one of Zemo’s hand trace over his torso, the fabric of his shirt between them.

James covered the baron’s hand with his own and helped the man further down to dive under the fabric. His hold invited Zemo to brush up his chest, towards what was left of his arm. James longed to feel those fingers tracing his skin. And everything be damned, he needed Zemo to feel him. All of him.

“Okay?” Zemo managed as his fingers traced up his left side, nearing the old wound.

James squeezed his eyes shut as he let him go and nodded, desperate to lose himself in the kissing to distract himself from this horrifying feeling of anticipation.

Zemo’s fingers slowed, his touch faint as he traced the sensitive skin. Few had touched him there. Most against his will. And now here James was, letting Zemo touch that one part of him that kept reminding him of his failures.

The gentle fingers traced around the metal bolt holes. James’ breath caught in his chest as he shuddered.

“Okay?” Zemo whispered against his lips.

James nodded again, taking his time to breathe. The intimacy of it all was something he hadn’t expected, but now that the worst part was over, he didn’t even know why he’d been so afraid in the first place.

He'd known all along that Zemo wouldn’t care and yet still, he felt relieved when Zemo kissed him again, with more vigor.

The fingers slowly returned to his chest, caressing his skin with his usual soft touch. A pressure lifted from Bucky’s heart.

“Get some sleep, baron,” he mumbled.

This time it was Zemo who nodded. He pressed his cheek to Bucky’s chest and James covered him with the blanket.

James hummed soft tunes from the forties as he ran his fingers through his silky hair, stroking the baron even after he’d fallen asleep.

James, on the other hand, didn’t stop. Nor did he close his eyes. He kept his eyes trained on that moving chest, his ears trained on the soft breathing.

He kept a watch on the baron until the sun was well over the horizon.

Zemo

Zemo didn’t know where they were. A void, of sorts.

All he saw was that man in front of him.

Those cold eyes, that hair. The Russian words that made no sense to him.

Zemo scurried back but the Soldier was faster than he was. With a few quick strides, he’d grabbed his arm, holding him in place.

Zemo wanted to plead, to wake James up with his voice. But when he opened his mouth, not a sound came out.

It was then that the Winter Soldier pulled his vibranium arm back. Before the baron could blink, the Solder thrust his hand forward and pierced into his chest.

The baron’s gasp was silent as he glared down. He was too lost in shock.

The Winter Soldier's hand had penetrated his chest. The metal pulled out then, ripping his own beating heart away with it.

The baron’s breaths came out faster, his mind spiraling. Blood was gushing from the open wound in his chest. The heart in that hand was still beating, dripping red.

Zemo was hyperventilating. He was falling. Falling to his knees, eyes staring at the Soldier, the man holding his living heart like Hamlet holding Yorick’s skull.

Then those fingers squeezed and pressed harder and harder-

Splat.

Zemo woke with a sharp inhale.

He was just about to utter the word ‘fascinating,’ but his throat was too tight to get the word out. Like his vocal cords were glued to the back of his throat.

His quickened inhales must have caught James’s attention.

“You okay?” James cupped his cheek with his one hand, careful as he scrutinized his neck. Given his widening eyes and visible gulp, Zemo knew it didn’t look good.

Zemo quickly wrapped his hand around James’ warm wrist and nodded. He was fine.

He let himself lay down next to the super soldier. He wound his fingers in the collar of Bucky’s shirt and pulled him closer.

James let him, despite the worried look in his eyes.

Zemo opened his mouth in time to feel those lips against his. He abandoned the shirt to grab his long hair tight, trying to ignore the burning in his throat.

With the pain, James was his escape.

“Zemo,” the very man croaked. He sounded just as heartbroken as he had in the night. Maybe even more so. Zemo recognized that look, of a man who wanted nothing more than to run from this, or push Zemo away. “I don’t…”

The baron quickly shook his head, running his thumb over the super soldier’s lower lip. Stay, he mouthed, because no sound got out. He hoped the word was enough. Both a request for him to stay at his side, and a demand not to be sent away.

“You can’t talk,” James mumbled, sounding even more defeated.

Zemo smiled at him in an attempt to reassure him, brushing hair from his face.

He pulled him in to kiss him again. He swallowed then, a groan of pain actually managing to escape him.

“I’m going to get you some pain medication, and some ice, okay? And I’ll cook up something nice and warm.” Zemo smiled at him, nodding. James looked so worried, it was almost endearing. “I’m going to take care of you now.”