Zemo wasn’t exactly sure when his professional interest in James had merged into personal and bloomed into something more sinister. A twisting needy curiousity that had to be sated. It wasn’t that he wanted to know everything about James Barnes so that it could assist or condem a mission. Some things such as his facial quirks, subjects to avoid, what triggered negative reactions or what verbal prods caused erratic emotional responses, thus hindering their success.
No, while this information was fascinating in its own right, Zemo wanted to know more... Knowledge that he couldn’t learn in a redacted file about a broken man-turned-weapon, or a book written half a century ago on a dead American war-hero. As that information was outdated at best, unreliable and useless at worst. James Barnes wasn’t really the man described in either of those materials. Not in this day and age.
James was an endlessly stimulating topic, and Zemo longed to see glimpses of the man underneath the ‘bionic stare’ -dubbed by Samuel Wilson- the one not hidden behind a tightly controlled façade... Much like himself he supposed.
Watching him work wrapped in leather and Wakandan tech, finally in his element... The dead stare replaced by something calculating and dangerous... A soldier. The Soldier. If it was the Zimniy Soldat or the World War Two Commando that influenced his actions… Zemo didn’t mind as the amalgamation that held all the skills regardless.
Or when James interacted with Samuel, as the two bantered like Zemo wasn’t even there, a close camaraderie that he longed to have with the man. The one that dropped his guard and let the smallest of smiles touch his lips.
These moments helped fill in many gaps his curiosity needed -begged- to know.
And yet, there was so much more to learn. James was not a simple novel but a whole series of chronicles that he had yet to sink into. He had only scratched the surface of the plots woven in the story that was James “Bucky” Barnes.
On rare occasions he would witness small parts -a dazed glance filled with anguish, a chosen few solemn words- that knitted disjointed pieces of the story together…
The taste of forbidden knowledge and Zemo would happily devour the whole cursed apple to know more. Paradise be damned.
It didn’t take long to realise he was more than a little obsessed with his colleague.
And he still longed to know more. What he had was simply not enough.
There were some things could only be seen behind closed doors, in intimate moments, with ones that were truly trusted. He wanted to be that trusted someone to James, to know his every secret.
The revelation should have startled him.
Astonishingly, it didn’t.
There was a problem in his plan to discover everything that was James.
The issue was himself, more importantly the way he was presented to the other man.
To James he was one of two things: a former adversary -a former Handler, the man that had used him, the man that had wronged him- and the sly, scheming Baron Helmut Zemo.
They had since buried the history between them at the Sokovian Monument, when both he and the former Winter Soldier had chosen not to kill one another. He crossed off his name in the other’s book of amends… He had apologised and meant it. He would have let James kill him that day… At that moment, surrounded by the memories of Sokovia in what was her former scenery, it had felt right. Like justice. Like peace.
It had been a good time to die.
However, once again James had surprised him. If he closed his eyes in a silent room, he still heard the pinging of those bullets upon the cobbles… Bullets that could have just as easily sunk into his own flesh instead.
He still wanted to know why they had spared him; he had many theories, but he didn’t presume to know which one was correct.
That still left the other problem.
The Baron was a skin he wore, one he had cultivated in his youth. A pretty and dangerous mask. The Baron flaunted his wealth, he was ruthlessness and cunning, had a tactical mind and a silver tongue. He played both sides, manipulated people and always got his own way eventually... If by spending a small fortune or eliminating a few annoyances depended entirely on the day.
The Baron had a reputation and was a perfect cover when they had been in Madripoor those many months ago.
But underneath, Zemo wasn’t really that young and arrogant royal anymore. He could look the part, go through the motions, smirk instead of the frown that wanted to tug at his lips. He had been many different people since the last time he was the Baron. Colonel, Father, Husband, Fanatic… Terrorist. In the end, he was unsure which had been masks and which real versions of himself.
It didn’t matter anymore…
He still played him frequently on missions. More so than the Colonel or any other. Not that he could be Father or Husband at all...
The Baron was the easiest to be.
And James utterly hated that disguise.
He couldn’t be the Baron to befriend James.
He couldn’t be one of his other masks either. But really, was the man behind those masks any better?
Making acquaintances, allies… friends, being likeable had always been a skill Zemo had held. It depended on the individual for what was needed and how he should act. Though usually there were a few things that could relate to almost anyone.
Appearing non-threatening and kind was always a good place to start.
James was lying facedown on the sofa, he had been there for an hour already, still dressed in his uniform, blood still clinging to his hair, he was exhausted. Sleeping on the sofa with all the gear wouldn’t do his body any good though. Super-Soldier or not.
Zemo decided to make some coffee for him, at the smell of the bitter beverage the man turned over, observing him out of the corner of his eye. He came over quietly, offering the mug and a small plate of biscuits. They were taken slowly, cautiously, James even sniffed the mug deeply as he stared -almost glaring- at Zemo.
“Not poisoned I hope.” He remarked, neither a question nor statement.
Zemo deflated a little. “I would not poison perfectly good coffee, James.”
“Yeah… Good. It’d be a waste.” He sipped at the mug but pushed the biscuits away.
There was spot of crimson staining their cheek, matted in the long stubble clinging to James’ jaw and cheeks. Without thinking too much, Zemo licked the pad of his thumb and went to wipe it away. Surely James didn’t want to be covered in blood much longer.
His thumb never came into contact their skin as James let out a low growl and caught Zemo’s wrist in his iron-tight grip. Squishing the bones together and bruising the skin almost instantly. The mug smashed on the floor just to add insult to injury, and the fresh coffee splashed over the bottom of his trousers.
James pushed him away and he stumbled into a nearby chair before they jumped to his feet and exited the room within seconds.
Zemo stared at the mess dumbfounded. That certainly hadn’t been the reaction he’d been expecting.
Apparently non-threatening meant dangerous and scheming to James.
Giving praise and flattery sometimes endeared people. A couple of carefully crafted compliments could maybe sway James’ opinion of him alongside the other things he planned.
He couldn’t give a light-hearted ‘You look lovely Dear’ to James, nor could he say how appealing he was when fresh from battle, copper and gunpowder clinging to his clothes. He also risked that certain praise may remind the other of his time under HYDRA’s thumb. That would have the opposite effect he was going for.
He settled with a mission-based compliment.
Walking into the safehouse after the long night was like coming in after being stuck out in a thunderstorm. The calm and quiet, so still, the comforting shelter was perfection after the high-octane evening the two had experienced.
James settled on in an the dining table and slowly, with delibrate gentleness, placed his weapons in front of him.
“Thank you for today, James. We would not have succeeded if you had not spotted that sniper.” He kept his tone light but appreciative, considered patting the other on the arm, as Samuel would, but decided against it. They weren’t close enough for that.
Blue eyes, an ocean of disquiet churning within them, rose to meet his own. Were he a lesser man he may have flinched under the scrutiny.
“That’s a shit way to say: ‘Thanks for makin’ sure my head didn’t get blown off, Bucky.’” He snapped back, clear rage and irritation laced between those words.
Zemo’s lips that had been set in a minute smile dropped at the harshness of their voice.
“I’m sorry, did I say or do something wrong, James?” He refused to tilt his head in confusion.
“Ya know what, Zemo? Yeah you did.” He pulled to his full height, staring down at him.
“You should have noticed him. You could have been killed today. Let’s not mention last week when you stupidly walked into that trap... Even Sam would have pointed that one out.”
He moved closer so they basically nose to nose.
“Do ya have a deathwish, Baron? Is that it? I thought we were past that. I wouldn’t have agreed to this if you were goin’ to throw yourself at every danger.” He snarled, spit and venom punctuating his words.
“Or maybe, ya think you’re so high and mighty you are invincible. That it?!”
Zemo said nothing. He wasn’t sure what to say in the face of that...
He should be angry at the accusations. He could play it off as that it didn’t affect him one bit.
But it did.
Trying to gather some form of dignity and emotion, he straightened, huffed in annoyance and stormed out the room.
Compliments were certainly not the way to go.
It was a long shot, but many individuals liked gifts. Surely a few well-thought-out offerings would give Zemo some good graces.
James liked very few things and was a rather practical person, a gift for him had to either cater to a like of his or be useful in some way... A weapon, clothing or a tool.
His first gift had been a book set he knew James enjoyed, since Samuel made many jokes at it’s expense. He had hunted around to find first editions and promptly left them in James’ room for him to find late one night, post-mission.
A day later they were on his own bed, a note saying he already had copies and ‘Thanks but no thanks’. James didn’t even mention them when they spoke later that day. Zemo left that one at that...
A loss this time but he tried again.
James had an affinity for leather, in particular leather jackets, boots, gloves... So when Zemo realised the jacket James usually wore was thread-bare and had been stained by using it mid-mission. The idea for his second attempt was made clear.
He decided to give it to him personally this time. To explain his gift so the other would accept it.
He didn’t go all out, it was branded... Likely expensive by the other’s standards, not by his own however, but made well-enough that he could consider it an acceptable item to give a coworker or friend.
The jacket was rather nice if he was being honest, warm and fur-lining inside, mainly black with a streak of red detailing. Close fitting and Zemo had made a little alteration to include extra padding. It could come handy if worn mid-fight.
He knocked on James’ door one evening and after some shuffling from other side of the door the man in question stood in the doorway.
“Ah, James. I hope I am not interrupting.”
The other said nothing, staring with almost empty eyes.
Undeterred he continued. “I have something for you. I noticed you needed a new one so... Here.”
He offered up the jacket, making sure to show the lining and the detailing. To show the beauty of the piece of clothing.
The other didn’t make a move to take it. His glazed-over eyes drifted over the offered gift. He offered no real reaction.
“No.” He muttered sternly.
Zemo blinked. “No? Why ever not?”
“Yeah. I can’t accept that... Go spend your money on someone else.”
“I don’t understand, this isn’t a transaction. I expect nothing back. Just a gift...”
“I don’t need a disgustingly expensive gift. I ain’t your sugarbaby. Just return it, Zemo. I don’t want it.”
“But surely...?” Before he could finish his thoughts James vacated the space and it was replaced by a slamming door.
He glanced down at the jacket in his hand and sighed.
This hadn’t been a good idea either.
He went through a list of things that usually helped get into the ‘good books’ of most people, they were all shot down. James revealed himself to be the very opposite of most people. He should have known that from the start, then again, he had been overly optimistic in his abilities. He had believed it would not be such a monumental feat even with their past interactions and James’ storied history.
He was wrong. Very wrong.
He’d offered to take them both for a meal after a job well done and the other man had waved the offer away as if he was affronted by the very notion. When had an invitation to a five-star Michelin restaurant ever been seen as an insult? He ended up going alone, the food was wonderful, although he did really miss having a dinner companion.
After hearing that the Wilson’s were once again struggling financially, he had asked James’ if he should assist, if Samuel would agree to his possible large donation. James had laughed at him, muttering that 'Sam would never accept charity' especially from someone like him.
The statement had hurt more than Zemo liked to admit.
He was at a loss; James rebuffed every attempt or advance to become anything more than coworkers. His plot to learn more about the other man had failed…
The Baron would be tenacious… Pushing until the target gave in, the Colonel would know when to cut his losses and see it as a lesson. Zemo knew he had failed.
James simply didn’t want to be friends or anything more.
He would never answer the many questions Zemo held in his heart.
He just had to accept that fact.
Zemo awoke slowly, groaning as the sheets rubbed against a patchwork of new bruises, yesterday’s mission had ended in a firefight he hadn’t been quite prepared for. If not for James’ super-human reactions he probably would be in a hospital bed and not the silken sheets of the penthouse-come-safehouse.
There was the smell of fresh bacon in the air and a faint droning melody echoing from down the hall. The only other occupant was awake as well. Though they had never cooked on a mission before, certainly not breakfast.
Zemo shimmed slowly out of the overly large bed, frowning when he found a couple of pills and a glass of water on the bedside cabinet, he had not left them there. He shallowed them dry before carefully pulling on some loose pyjama pants and forgoing the shirt for a light robe he could drape over his shoulders without irritating his new injuries.
He padded quietly out of the bedroom and down the hall, though he was sure James’ enhanced abilities could pick up more than the average human.
He slipped silently into the kitchen-come-dining area,
And stopped short at the sight.
James was in the kitchen, cooking as predicted, but the island counter was piled high with all manner of breakfast foods; many that would be found in a typical American movie… Pancakes and waffles and breads, fresh fruit and syrup as toppings. Frankly, it looked sugary enough to cause a heart attack.
There was music playing, something that certainly wasn’t recent… Probably an artist from the Super-Soldier’s youth. Orchestral but addictive and could put a swing in his step.
The man in question was humming along as he plated up some bacon, snagging a piece and chewed with a amused sound. The scene before him was very domestic. He remembered seeing a similar sight when he arrived home after months away. His wife and Carl woke up extra early so Papa could have a lie in… They would make an elaborate morning meal…
Carl’s beaming face as he was greeted by their efforts.
His wife’s tired but proud smile...
James spun around to place the plate and nodded as he spotted the dumbstruck Zemo in the doorway.
“Gonna just stare at it or you gonna actually help me eat it?” He called, voice lighter than usual. His accent and American slang more prominent than normal.
Zemo found he liked it.
“James… What is all this?” He asked, circling the island to come closer.
“Breakfast, I’m hungry so grab it while it’s still there.” He started to fill a plate with everything in sight, pancakes topped with blueberries and waffles with bacon of all things.
“James…” He started, still not moving to take any of the food.
“Yes, Zemo?”
“What warranted such a feast?” He tilted his head, trying to look into the other’s eyes.
“I’m hungry, you were too injured to cook so I made it instead.” He shrugged, adding a generous dollop of syrup. “It’s just a nice gesture. Olive branch if ya will.”
"I thought you weren’t bothered by my attempts at friendliness.”
James stilled at those words, a hint of seriousness slipping into his tone. “I’m not blind, Zemo.”
“Whatever do you mean?” He raised a brow, crossing his arms as he ignored the urge to flinch.
“The gifts… Compliments… You acting all weird. At first, I thought you were trying to manipulate me… You can’t blame a guy for thinkin’ that.” He dragged his finger in the goop and liked it off before pointing at Zemo and meeting his eyes.
“I realised recently it wasn’t all to get in my head. Your new-found-weirdness isn’t malicious. To get in my good graces sure, so I refused everything on principal. You are walking a thin line and I don’t wanna seem biased… So, I keep pushing you away.”
“But I can see the bigger picture now, you were basically courting me without telling me… Gifts, offers for restaurants, all the little things you do anyway. I’ve seen you with others… You don’t do half the stuff you’ve tried with me.”
Zemo blinked, not sure how to respond. James new of his attempts, he wouldn’t call it courting per say but maybe it could be seen as such… He found he didn’t mind the interpretation. Not at all.
“I wanted to be friends, James. To show I appreciate you. To know you. To be close to you. I honestly thought you hated me…” He had not meant to say all his thoughts, but they came out unbidden.
The other quirked a brow before shaking his head with a slight smirk. “I don’t hate you, we’re past that… The 'let’s not kill one another' sorta sealed that. We weren’t friends at the start, but I think we are now… We work close enough. I don’t just let anyone watch my six.”
A heavy weight lifted from his shoulders; one he hadn’t even been aware of.
“James… Thank you truly.” He glanced over the table full of food and to the person, his partner and friend, that made it.
Maybe he had just been going about this all wrong.
James was endlessly fascinating, and many months later Zemo still hadn’t even skimmed the many stories that made up a full depiction of who he was.
But he was getting closer.
And he enjoyed every second.
He smiled down at the sleepy Super-Soldier curled up with his head on Zemo’s lap. James let out an aborted hum at the fingers that gently weaved into his hair, scratching at the scalp in slow movements. He leaned over to place a light kiss on their temple.
A small knowing smile twitched at James’ lips and Zemo knew they enjoyed every second as well.