Strangers
It must have been last Tuesday, you recall, while one of the detectives presses play on the security footage that they are showing you.
You were storming out of the bank, you somehow managed to block your credit card and you were in a rush since you had to go fix it during your lunch break. God forbid you took an absence from work for stuff like this, your boss was an asshole.
You bumped into a guy on your way out, which you didn’t even fully register but apparently it was the worst thing you could have done because you’re currently sitting in an interrogation room of the fucking FBI because of it.
The two detectives not so quietly knocked on your door this morning, all but dragging you out of your apartment – you were seen with a wanted criminal and brought in for questioning, while your apartment was being searched by forensics.
It’s now been almost two hours of “How do you know Baron Helmut Zemo?” and “What did he say to you?”.
He apparently escaped prison again and was on the run leaving basically no traces.
You told them time and time again that yeah, you knew who he was… from the news… but that you really didn’t recognize him bumping into you and had already forgotten the encounter a minute after it happened, so caught up in your own shitshow of a life.
At least after the 10th time of trying to make it clear that you did not KNOW the guy they followed a different strategy in questioning you.
“Please, Miss, close your eyes for us and try to recall the moment. We really need details to get a lead on finding the bastard.”
You did as you were told. It was difficult; the fluorescent lights of the room already giving you a headache and the atmosphere rigid and uncomfortable but you really tried going back to that moment in your mind.
You remembered rushing out of the door of the bank. Not too many people were around. You were looking at your phone, checking the time to see you needed to be back at work in 10 minutes when suddenly you full on pumped into a guy in a dark purple sweater and gray baseball cap. Your phone slipped out of your hand and you remember that he bent down to pick it up at the same time as you. He mumbled a quiet “apologies”.
He was quicker to grab your phone, handing it to you with a simple “Are you ok?” while intensely staring at your face, slightly tilting his head.
Remembering now you could probably verify he had an accent, but it could have also just been that you now knew that a Sokovian terrorist asked you that question.
You mumbled a quick “yeah, yeah no worries” and got up quickly.
In your memory the exchange lasted maybe a few seconds but seeing it on the security footage it seemed to take ages until you were on your feet again heading away from the man. He even turned around to watch you storm off and quickly disappeared himself.
You could kind of understand why the FBI was suspicious about the encounter but you really did not have any useful information. Eventually, in combination with the lack of evidence in your apartment, they recognized you were a dead end and let you leave, simply warning you to stay in the country and to tell them should you remember anything useful.
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Once you got home you collapsed on your couch. The apartment felt strange, knowing just mere hours ago a team of men in white suits basically took it apart, looking for any kind of evidence that tied you to the man that bombed the UN.
You let out a big sigh that turned into a grunt and rubbed your eyes. You were exhausted and pissed off and maybe also a little bit scared.
You couldn’t shake the feeling off that this wasn’t a simple accidental running into some stranger. This man was a mastermind. A villain. He had the brains to take out the avengers and yet he makes the mistake of bumping into some random woman all while getting caught on a security camera. What was he even doing at the bank?
Thoughts kept circling around in your head and what’s the thing a mindful, responsible adult with a good coping mechanism does in that situation? Pour a glass of wine and do some research on google.
At least it was Friday night, so you had the whole weekend to come up with weird conclusions and maybe take one or the other semi-drunk nap.
You opened your browser and in a Bella from Twilight kind of way simply googled “Helmut Zemo”.
Random articles popped up, some pictures of him during his arrest and as with any brutal criminal there was of course a whole community of people romanticizing him. You looked down on his “fans” for justifying his actions but did you blame them for finding Helmut Zemo attractive – not really. You had to recall how he looked at your face while picking up your phone, brown eyes staring intensely into your own while a deep, quiet voice asked you if you were ok.
And that’s when you shut your laptop and slumped back in your seat, groaning once again because what the fuck. Were you really that desperate and deprived of attention from the male species that you would let your thoughts go into that direction. No. It was time for bed, even if that just meant staring at the ceiling for however long it took exhaustion to overpower your restless mind.
The next morning you couldn’t really remember how you got into your pajamas or whether you brushed your teeth but your mind was still full of images of him. Coffee should help, you figured.
You stared absently at your little Italian moka pot, contemplating the day’s activities when a loud crash suddenly erupted. Almost as if somebody just smashed down your front door.
You startled, froze on the spot and became extremely scared. Was it the FBI again? Have they found something after all? Something that you weren’t even aware of?
You were just about to turn around when something heavy hit the back of your head.
And everything went back.