Wool and Leather

Zemo awoke slowly, sliding to consciousness in crawling shifts, expecting to be greeted by white walls, blinding lights, a rough uncomfortable cot underneath. 

Yet, none of those unpleasant things filled his senses when he opened his eyes as he was not in his cell. He didn’t have a cell anymore. 

It was still dark outside, the lazy morning Sun was refusing to rise just as he. A feeling of bone-deep tiredness still clutched at him. He grasped the king-sized duvet and pulled it around him, nestling inside. 

He had woken up alone, the sheets that were meant to be shared were cool - the other had clearly left some time ago. 

Their loss, he thinks. It was pleasant inside the den of bedding...

Although, it was strange to be the one remaining in the bed. The one not to sneak out and start the day early. He usually rose much before his bed partner.

Them not being here was unusual. Suspicious...

Even when they were plagued with bad days and nights, they craved contact... Comfort... Humanity. After so long of it being denied, he offered it freely. He enjoyed the more caretaking role of their relationship. Not having time to spend close to them in the morning was disheartening. 

He soon found the loneliness unbearable, a flaw he had developed after spending so much time with them or possibly it was after being alone so long.

A fear that the person he loved would be snatched away from him once again... Leaving his bedding nest, draped in a thick robe to chase the cool morning air, he wandered their home, looking for his missing companion. 

They were nowhere to be found.

He may have not found his companion, his dear James, but he found a gift from him. A clothing bag with a scrawled message on note paper. 

Hey Zemo

Check it fits.

- Bucky

Always a one for words was James. To the point. 
Curious he unzipped the bag to reveal a jacket. 
It was a leather jacket, and thankfully the million of buckles and straps James seemed to favour were absent, no fur either, just dark shades of leather in a simple style and a red soft lining. It was padded, thick, somewhat similar to a motorcycle jacket.

He hadn’t worn a proper biker-style jacket or anything since his youth, when causing trouble for his Father was his priority as teenagers often do. In some areas of the world there was the rise of Punk and Metal, leather was prominent... He had wanted to join in.

No young man wanted to be draped in suits every day, even those within the Barony. They wanted freedom. The anarchy that Punk and its style provided, or so he had thought... Those many years ago. Before his life had beaten it out of him. 

Now those memories were rose-tinted, red-tainted, he could never be the man not warped by his Noble upbringing, Military career and the trail of blood that followed his steps. 

Anarchy, anti-War, anti-Power had been for other people.

He pushed those thoughts away. 

Being wrapped in tight leather and black head-to-toe was James’ style of fashion. Not so much his own. He liked a little comfort as well as utility, but for something he himself would never buy, his partner had chosen rather well... 

He pulled the tight padded sleeves over his arms, his bare fingers brushing down the thick leather until he was met with bulk hidden within one of the pockets. Something was inside one of the pockets, it jiggled, like metal. Very few thing felt that shape... Circular and small.

He froze, this had happened before.

His breath stilled, body stiffened, eyes glazed over. 

No... Not again. 

James wouldn’t...

He couldn’t do this to him. 

He tore off the jacket, throwing it to the floor in haste and fled. He wouldn’t look, if he didn’t look then there would be nothing to find...

That cowardice of all of those years ago had resurfaced. 

He couldn’t go through it again. 

He ran, locking himself away from everything. 

He was a coward, a broken-hearted coward... He hid beneath the covers like a child from their parents... As if the world did not turn as he took refuge. He dared not contact James. He couldn’t bare to hear those words over the phone. 

Although, hearing them to his face won’t go any better. 

He hid for some time before he decided to pull himself back together, sewing his dignity back in place. He showered and dressed as if the skin was not his own, he slid on one of his many masks from youth. It was the only way to prevent more wallowing.

With the conservation looming, for whenever James chose to arrive... He decided to pack. The home they shared could go to the other, he wouldn’t be able to bare it again. He’d rather tear it down and rebuild. But it was not just his, so the other man could have it. 

He went through his wardrobe, found some boxes for his rather large book collection and started to pack. He drank as he worked, something expensive he’d bought for his former-partner... It’d only go to waste and well... He was feeling petty. While Zemo enjoyed fine spirits, the other was perfectly content with some shoddy cheap and weak beer. Even after being shown the best. Why waste it when James had said he couldn’t even get drunk?

Maybe they both were just too different and James had finally noticed. 

Maybe it was what Zemo had done all those years ago... Back to haunt him. His greatest sin. Still he wouldn’t be here without it. Life had given him a few happier years before it ripped it away again. 

Baron Zemo wasn’t meant for long-term happiness. He was meant for death, destruction and sorrow. 

By the time the front door clicked open, signalling the other’s return, Zemo was beyond tipsy, he’d stopped packing when the world started to spin. Simply sitting within the piles of his belongings surrounding him, a sad and pathetic sight indeed. 

Heavy footsteps lead his way as Zemo struggled to stand. The other was a blob of black and blue, he had to wonder just how many had met their end with that black blur stalking their way. 

“You didn’t like the jacket then.” The terse tone swam into his ears. 

“More the implication. Couldn’t even say it yourself... Till now.” He hoped his words weren’t too slurred. 

“Ya know I’m not big on exclamations and shit.” A pause. “You’ve been drinking. A lot.”

“I can do what I like, James.” He swayed and large hand grabbed at him, keeping him from falling. Steel-grip and unmoving.

“James... Let me go.”

“Not until I get a straight answer. Why’re you packing? Up and leaving already?” James growls his way.

“You’re leaving me! How could you tell me through a jacket! That’s cruel James.” 

Silence was his answer for several long seconds. Years could have passed and Zemo would have felt them the same. 

“What? I’m not. Why’d you even think that?”

“You left your ring in the pocket.”

“That’s not my wedding ring.” He stalked away returning with the jacket. Digging into the pocket. He pulled out a set of keys which did have a ring on them... Closer inspection revealed it was his Father’s signet ring. 

There was no wedding ring to be found. Not this time.

“What? Oh...” 

“You didn’t even look, did you? Idiot.” The insult borders on affectionate. 

“I... No.” He had been a fool. 

“I got you a bike, you moron, it’s motorbike keys and I refurbed your old ring since it was damaged. Thought it suited the keys. That’s all. No ones leaving. Right?”

He wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t. He throws himself at his love. Burying himself in their bulk. James draped the new jacket over his shoulders. Maybe it did suit him. 

“I guess a bike ride tonight is a no... Since Mr Dramatic got pissed.”

“Shut up, James.”

“Love you too.” Even sarcastic, it was heartfelt and real.  

“And I, you, James. Always."

It’s a tight fit, stiff and well, not comfortable in the slightest... But just this once he won’t complain, as the two rush through the countryside. Wind whipping his face, James hugging at his back, a warm solid presence. 

It’s perfect. Just perfect.