Activation Words

1. Longing.

His longing for new beginnings took him to Sokovia.  

Not to bury the past. He’d tried that. It never stayed dead.  

But to find something among the ruins. A shape. A voice.  

A man who looked at him like memory and mercy had the same face.

2. Rusted. 

Through the rusted gate, he saw the Baron’s villa. Not grand. Not anymore.  

The paint peeled like old regrets. The vines crept in without shame.  

It was quiet. But he could feel Zemo watching. 

He could hear Zemo’s heartbeat quicken.

3. Seventeen.

There were seventeen ways he could immediately see to get in.  

Six of them silent. Three of them suicidal.  

But he rang the bell.  

Because this time, he wasn’t a ghost. He was a guest.

4. Daybreak.

Zemo answered in a robe that probably cost more than a safehouse.  

Daybreak slid over him, soft and golden. It made his eyes molten, topaz.

“James,” he said. No threat. No mask. Just Bucky’s name.  

And Bucky didn’t flinch.

5. Furnace.

The kitchen was warm. Too warm. The furnace was old. Temperamental.  

But Bucky didn’t shed his coat.  

He needed the armour. Just for a little longer.  

Zemo poured coffee. It felt like a peace offering.

6. Nine.

There were nine seconds of silence before Bucky said:  

“I’ve been thinking about you.”  

And Zemo didn’t smile. Not quite. But the corner of his mouth curved, like a nod.  

Like acceptance.

7. Benign.

Their first touch was a brush of fingers when he reached for the cup.  

But Bucky’s pulse betrayed him. And Zemo noticed.

“Still easily startled?”  

“Only when I want something.”

8. Homecoming.

Zemo didn’t ask what he wanted.  

He just turned, slowly, as if giving Bucky space to speak or retreat.  

But Bucky didn’t retreat. His feet found their own path. 

When Zemo embraced him, it was a homecoming.

9. One.  

One breath.  

One step.  

One look too long.  

Then Zemo said, “Are you sure?”  

And Bucky said, “No.”  

Then, “Yes.”  

Then, “Ask me again and I’ll lose my nerve.”

10. Freight Car.

Zemo kissed him like the past had weight.  

Like he’d carried it from Siberia to Sokovia and was finally setting it down.  

It hit them both like a bolt of lightning.

But this time, each of them wanted to be scorched.

***

Part 2. Protocol: Observed. Zemo.

1. Longing.

Longing is not foreign to him.  

He’s lived in its company, dressed it in refinement, taught it manners.  

But for this? For Bucky turning up at his door?

He had no etiquette prepared.

2. Rusted.

He never fixed the gate.  

He told himself it was for aesthetic.  

But really, it was hope.  

That one day someone would push it open, and not see weakness, but invitation.

3. Seventeen.

Seventeen times he’d imagined this.  

In dreams, in daylight, in exile.  

Each version more indulgent than the last.  

None of them dared end with Bucky staying.

4. Daybreak.

He chose not to dress.  

Daybreak was enough adornment.  

If James wanted performance, he’d get it.  

But if he wanted truth, well, Zemo had so little of that left, he might as well give it freely.

5. Furnace.

The furnace had been acting up for days.  

He hadn’t called anyone.  

Let the kitchen burn, let the windows fog.  

Let it feel like a place where someone might want to fix it.

6. Nine.

There were nine different phrases he considered when Bucky said, “I’ve been thinking about you.”  

He used none of them.  

He let silence be a mirror.  

And Bucky did not flinch.

7. Benign.

The touch was innocent.  

But the way Bucky’s fingers trembled?  

That was not benign. That was wire stripped bare.

And Zemo, connoisseur of tension, knew better than to pull away.

8. Homecoming.

There is a moment both brief and endless, when the Winter Soldier walks toward him.  

Not as a threat. Not as a prisoner.  

But as a man choosing to cross a line.  

Zemo forgets to breathe.  

He forgets to plot.

9. One.

One word away from ruin.  

One gesture from grace.  

He wants to ask again, but he sees it. The glint of fear behind Bucky’s bravery.  

So he doesn’t.  

He waits.  

He lets him choose.

10. Freight Car.

The kiss lands like memory.  

Like atonement.  

Like being forgiven for something he never confessed.  

It hits him, all of it, like a thunderbolt.  

But this time, he does not let go.

***

Part 3. Ten Steps to Redamancy.

1. Longing. Bucky didn’t knock for a long time. He just stood there, letting it ache.  

2. Rusted. Zemo heard the gate squeak. He’d never had it fixed.

3. Seventeen. Seventeen hours on a train, and Bucky still didn’t know what to say.  

4. Daybreak. Zemo watched him stride up the drive. Bucky had arrived with the light, as if he'd timed it to forgiveness.

5. Furnace. The kitchen was hot. It smelled like woodsmoke and earth, and maybe hope.  

6. Nine. Nine steps from the door to the chair where Zemo read in the morning light.

7. Benign. “I’m not here to fight,” Bucky said, though his hands were fists.  

8. Homecoming. Zemo poured him tea like it meant something. It did.

9. One. There was one moment when Bucky could have turned away. He didn’t.  

10. Freight Car. And when Bucky touched his shoulder, it hit Zemo like memory, but stayed like a gift.

***

Chapter 2. Riga.

Old Words. New Meanings.

Bucky heard that Zemo had been released, and he felt a strange longing he couldn’t quite name.  

Zemo returned to his old apartment in Riga and found his heart was quietly, irrevocably rusted.

Zemo counted the seconds it took for him to cross the room. There were nine, and each one felt like surrender.

Bucky smiled when he spoke, soft and benign, like a peace offering left on the floor.  

When they finally hugged, it wasn’t awkward. It was a quiet homecoming, long overdue.

There was only one reason Bucky had come, and Zemo didn’t ask for it aloud.  

When Bucky leaned in, it hit Zemo like a freight car, sudden and inevitable.