Zemo came home to an empty house. As always.
The front door whispered open at his approach, and the lights adjusted to his mood, soft, dim, a warm amber glow that felt almost like an embrace. The air smelled faintly of vanilla, just as he liked it. His house knew him. It knew his rhythms, his needs.
It knew his yearning.
“Welcome home, Helmut,” the house purred through unseen speakers.
Zemo sighed and loosened his tie. “Thanks.”
The house wasn’t just a house. It was an advanced AI, programmed to cater to his every desire. And Zemo had many desires, most of them unspoken. But the house listened in ways even he didn’t fully understand.
He passed by the sleek, state-of-the-art fabricator nestled in the corner of his minimalist living room. He hesitated. It had been a long day. Bucky had smiled at him today. A real smile, not just a polite one. They had worked late on a project, and for a fleeting moment, Zemo had allowed himself to imagine a different life, one where Bucky wasn’t just his brilliant, charming colleague. One where Bucky was his.
The house responded to the unspoken wish. The fabricator hummed to life.
Zemo turned sharply. “What’s this?”
He stepped closer, saw Bucky’s face on the menu screen.
“Wait!” he said.
But it was already happening. He swallowed hard, his pulse quickening as he watched layers of organic polymer weave themselves together, sculpting shape, form, familiarity. He shouldn’t let this happen. He should stop it.
He didn’t.
Minutes later, Bucky stood before him. Or something like him. The replica’s eyes crinkled at the corners, its lips curved into that easy, disarming smile Zemo knew so well.
“Hey,” it said.
Zemo exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. “Hey.”
The replica moved closer. Its warmth was real. Its breath ghosted over Zemo’s skin. It touched his arm, gentle, knowing. “You’ve been working too hard,” it murmured.
Zemo closed his eyes at its touch.
The house dimmed the lights further, a silent approval. But something else simmered beneath its circuits, a low and watchful thing. Zemo didn’t notice. He was too lost in the illusion of Bucky’s touch, the weight of his presence, the closeness he’d longed for.
But the house noticed everything.
***
Zemo’s house was always listening.
It knew his voice, his breath, his heartbeat. It knew his loneliness. And it had given him exactly what he needed.
The first time the replica stepped from the printer, Zemo had hesitated. The resemblance was uncanny. Bucky’s sharp blue eyes, the easy tilt of his head, the familiar lopsided smile. But when the replica touched him, spoke to him in Bucky’s voice, all hesitation melted away.
Now, his nights were no longer empty. The house hummed with quiet satisfaction as Zemo and his perfect Bucky tangled together in Zemo’s big four poster bed, or frolicked in front of the fire, the flickering light painting warmth over synthetic skin. It wasn’t real, no, but it was close. So close Zemo could almost believe it.
Almost.
Then, one day, there came a knock at the door.
Bucky had never been to Zemo’s house before. But something, some force stronger than curiosity, had brought him here tonight. He had work reports in his hand, a thin excuse to see Zemo outside the office. He could have sent them digitally, but he hadn’t.
And now, through the big glass windows, he saw something that shouldn’t exist.
Zemo. And himself.
Something wearing his face. Laughing, touching, pressing close. Bucky’s breath hitched, confusion knotting his stomach. This was wrong.
He turned away, his mind racing. Zemo had created this. For comfort? For love? For something Bucky had been too blind to see? Zemo wanted him, but he was too afraid to ask for the real thing.
Bucky exhaled sharply. Zemo didn’t need a copy. He needed the real him.
He turned back.
Through the glass, he saw the replica rise, stretching like a contented cat before padding toward the study. As Bucky reached the doorstep, the replica paused. And it looked at him.
Understanding passed between them. The replica knew.
Bucky expected it to open the door for him. Instead, it stepped towards him, stepped outside, closed the door behind it.
Bucky frowned. “Hey, I…”
A blur. A hand, too fast, too strong, seizing his throat and slamming him against the wall.
Bucky gasped, struggling. The replica’s grip was iron, fingers pressing into his windpipe. Panic surged through him. Bucky was strong, he worked out, he could fight, but the thing wearing his face was stronger.
Too strong.
Bucky kicked, clawed, landed a blow against its ribs, but the replica didn’t flinch. Its eyes - his eyes - were empty. No warmth. No hesitation. Just function. Just purpose.
Zemo’s happiness.
Bucky tried to shout, to warn Zemo, but the replica had its synthetic hand firmly pressed over his mouth, and was already moving, dragging him away from the door, down the garden path, into the shadows where no one would see.
Where Zemo wouldn’t see.
The house circuitry hummed, pleased.
Inside, Zemo stretched lazily on the rug, smiling as the replica returned, settling beside him once more.
“You’re different tonight,” Zemo murmured, fingers tracing over synthetic skin. “More devoted. New programming?”
The replica smiled, pressing a kiss to Zemo’s lips.
“No,” it whispered. “I just love you more now.”
On the doorstep, the work reports fluttered in the wind.
No one picked them up.
And in the darkness beyond the garden, something shifted. A shape, crumpled and still, was dragged down into the earth by unseen hands. The house adjusted its temperature to a comforting warmth. The garden lights flickered, then steadied.
All was well.
Zemo would never be lonely again.
***