The clean water of the lake glistens in the early morning sun, and Zemo has to stop, take it all in. He’s never actually been to the memorial since it was finished, though he longed to.
To see it, to feel its energy. To properly mourn.
He never got that chance.
There is sound from behind him, quiet footsteps that the average person might easily miss. But Zemo, he is not the average person. He doesn’t turn, simply stands looking out at the water, up at the memorial with his hands connected behind his back.
“I have been expecting you, James.”
Silence. It’s … eerily quiet. Bucky clears his throat then, gloved hand wrapped carefully around the handle of his pistol still at his side. The sky is a hazy grey, the color of Bucky’s eyes a dull blue. Zemo narrows his eyes, walks forward.
Something isn’t right.
Zemo’s eyes flicker to the gun held in Bucky’s hand, lingering there. “Have you come to end things?”
Bucky’s fingers clench around the gun, though he stays where he is. As if his boots are glued to the ground. Zemo watches him, careful, and for several long moments there is a tense silence between the two. Complete. Silence.
It’s unsettling. Zemo feels uneasy, though he’s not entirely sure why … being around Bucky never did this to him, not even when the other had his hand tight around his neck on the way to Madripoor.
“You weren’t supposed to get away, Helmut.” Finally, he speaks. Zemo’s brows pull together. “You were supposed to stay with us in Riga, and then the Dora were going to take you. You knew this.”
Bucky’s voice is clear, steady and firm. Zemo eyes him curiously, mouth parting and then closing as if he were going to say something and then decided against it.
“James.” Zemo speaks quietly, hesitant. “We’re here now. You have the gun. It’s over – this is how it was always going to end, you know that.”
“I didn’t want it to end this way.” Something flashes in his eyes, still duller than their usual steely blue, and Zemo’s breath catches. “You forced this on me.”
Bucky raises the gun. Zemo steps forward, until it’s mere inches away from his forehead. It’s like a test, Zemo trying to see if Bucky will actually pull the trigger. He holds his breath and keeps his eyes open, brown focused on blue. The world around them seems out of focus; the only thing Zemo can see clearly is Bucky. The gun.
The sky somehow seems darker now, clouds rolling in and causing the reflection of the sun in the water to disappear. Zemo breathes out, an unreadable expression in his eyes. He can feel his heart beating like a drum against his ribcage, nerves buzzing beneath his skin.
The gun shifts in Bucky’s hand; the safety clicks off. Another tense moment of silence, and then Bucky is pulling the trigger. Zemo’s body goes boneless, falls to the floor with a sick thud, blood pooling around him, filling the intricate swirls of the memorial floor.
Zemo blinks and he’s in his cell in The Raft, staring up at the dull ceiling, releasing a breath like a wheeze.
It was all a dream.
Once his body has relaxed somewhat Zemo sits up and grabs the nearest book from his small collection, turning it to a random page. He’s displeased to see a slight tremor in his hands as he holds the book.
How could a dream have affected him so badly? And, what does it even mean? Zemo isn’t entirely certain, but he would surely like to find out.
Bucky did not kill him at the memorial – no. He spared Zemo’s life and sent him with the Dora Milaje, where they transferred him to the Raft, a more secure facility for people like him.
Perhaps the dream was merely a reflection of his desires that day; Zemo had wanted Bucky to end things. His purpose, his mission had been served and something deep within him only wanted to be reunited with his family.
Though, the more time that Zemo spends around Bucky … the more that he is left alone with his thoughts, he isn’t too sure.
And now, sitting alone in isolation in the Raft, Zemo isn’t sure what to make of it.
Oh well, it was just a dream. Nothing more, nothing less.
Zemo tries to reassure himself of this as he goes back to sleep that night.
. . .
A few days later
. . .
Zemo can hear everything. From the sound of boots and heels connecting with the ground, to the chatter and music that fills the room. Not only that, but his own heartbeat, thumping in his chest as if dancing to the music in the club.
Bucky, beside him, leans his elbow against the bar counter and glances around with his own watchful eye. His shoulders are tense and his jaw is clenched, an unreadable look painted across his delicate features. Zemo smiles.
The chatter around him feels distorted, as if Zemo is underwater and everyone else is above ground. People pass by, gazes lingering on Bucky – The Winter Soldier – as if they are taken by surprise he is even there. Zemo glares at them, silently urges them to keep walking, and then he turns towards Sam, currently struggling after having ingested a venom sac, of all things.
The lights in the club are dim – the colors duller, less vibrant than Zemo remembers them being when they first walked in. The chatter dies down, as does the music, and Zemo is looking around to figure out why. And then a man walks up to them, places a firm hand on Zemo’s shoulder and quietly speaks in the Baron’s ear.
Zemo’s hands are crossed neatly in front of him and he raises a brow, goes to answer his question. He feels on edge, skin prickling, buzzing with anxiety that he covers with a mask of confidence and surety.
When the man walks away, Zemo is sure to turn around so that he can face Bucky, who raises an eyebrow at him as if asking if everything is okay. Zemo nods, looks over at Sam, who seems to be waiting for direction from the Sokovian. He just nods, and as the man approaches again, this time armed, he straightens out, turning back to face him.
There is tense, uneasy silence for several long moments. Zemo looks at him expectantly, Sam looks ready to fight if need be, and Bucky’s hand is clenched into a fist on the counter. Jaw tight.
”зимний солдат,” Zemo starts, confident as he turns back to face Bucky. He tenses further, straightening up. “атака.”
That’s when things go south.
It starts well, at first. Zemo watches pleased as Bucky takes the group of attackers out, one by one. He moves with such precision – the Winter Soldier character to him fits like a glove – it’s like riding a bike, for him.
And then out of nowhere, a knife is being sunken into Bucky’s abdomen all the way to the hilt, the hand holding it slicing the knife outwards with a cry. Bucky’s knees buckle and he grabs them by the throat, squeezing, until the body drops to the floor and a knife is stabbing into his neck from behind.
Suddenly everyone disappears and it’s just Bucky, lying on the floor with blood coming from his mouth, hands covering his abdomen. Blood stains his hands and the red is a stark contrast to the metal. Zemo stumbles forward, kneels down beside him and lifts Bucky’s head.
”James— James, hold out just a little longer.” His hand brushes through dark hair, and Bucky doesn’t reply, just chokes on his own blood again. His head rolls back into Zemo’s hand, and it’s just them in the club. Another look around though and it isn’t the club it’s just … empty. Like an endless, dark void. Black walls and black floor, here to take Bucky away. “Everything is going to be alright…”
. . .
Zemo sits up rather quickly, the world coming back to him in a haze. There he is again, in the Raft with sweat collecting at his temple.
Another dream?
He rubs his hands together, sits at the edge of the bed with his feet pressed flat on the floor and elbows resting on his knees. It’s a lot to process.
The first dream was easier to explain away. This one makes no sense. Bucky, dying in Zemo’s arms. What does that mean?
Is he afraid to lose Bucky?
Zemo doesn’t read this time, he simply sits in silence. His chest heaves with each breath. In through his nose … out through his mouth. Still trying to calm his breathing, Zemo tries to figure out what the hell these dreams might mean.
Sure, it is true that while he was with Sam and Bucky helping them locate the Super Soldiers and where they got the serum, he had grown a bit attached. To Bucky, specifically. But … still. Bucky clearly wanted nothing to do with Zemo, though he was a bit more inclined to listen to him speak than Sam was.
Sometimes.
Zemo sighs, breathes in. He doesn’t make it to a conclusion that makes sense, and deems these dreams as just that : dreams. Or … nightmares, whatever.
Once his breathing has finally calmed, Zemo lays back on the cot and stares up at the ceiling.
He falls asleep thinking about blue eyes.
. . .
Zemo had lost Sharon and the others after he had shot Nagel. In the midst of the shootout on the shipping docks, it seems as though the three had almost completely forgotten about Zemo anyway.
He sighs, walks along one of the freights with his coat swaying behind him. Almost like a scene from a movie. He lifts the mask that once belonged to his father up and over his head; the material fits his face perfectly and it’s like putting on a glove. Zemo smiles, pulls the gun from his coat.
The male had gotten a decent look at the area before his decision to come up here, and from his vantage point he knows exactly what his next move will be. As Bucky and Sam argue as if they’re an old married couple, Zemo raises his arm, the hand currently holding the pistol and shoots, directly at one of the gas pipes. It explodes, and once the fire starts to clear Zemo can see a figure walking through the smoke – no, that won’t do.
He shoots – it rings out through the air, and for a moment the whole world seems to go still as the bullet lands, right between the man’s eyes. Zemo’s ears are ringing, and it is only when the figure stumbles forward that Zemo sees it’s Bucky. He shot … but no. That’s not possible, he had been just over there—
When Zemo looks over where Bucky had been, he only sees Sharon and Sam, shocked looks drawn on their faces. Completely still, as if frozen. Zemo looks back over at Bucky, on the floor face first with a pool of blood forming beneath him, spreading out onto the pavement.
The ringing in his ears only grows louder and Zemo looks around, dropping his gun and trying to catch his breath —
— He wakes up that way, breath caught in his lungs as he sits up on the cot in the Raft, breathing coming in sharp wheezes. He can’t … how … it wasn’t possible for Bucky to have gotten over there that quickly. That shouldn’t have happened.
It was a dream.
It was all a dream, just like the rest.
Zemo clenches his fists, unclenches them. He digs his nails into the skin of his palm until he is drawing blood and still, stillpain. A pain he hasn’t felt since … since. Sokovia.
Since he lost his wife and son.
To Zemo, the mere thought of losing Bucky – it’s as painful as losing his family. The love of his life.
And that’s when it hits him.
Zemo goes to sit at the edge of his cot, lips parted and eyes zoned out on the floor. Then, he’s smiling.
He’s in love with Bucky.
It’s simple. As simple as breathing, really. Zemo isn’t freaked out by this thought, no. It just … makes sense. He’s in love with Bucky. He doesn’t want to lose him. And that’s what it all means.
Zemo’s hands hang between his legs, and he smiles wider.
It has all been pieced together in Zemo’s head. The way Bucky smiles, even if only a little. The way he watches Zemo, the subtle ways he shows that he cares.
Zemo huffs a laugh, laying back down.
He’s in love with Bucky.
And really, it is that simple.