Chapter 7
VII
“Jesus Christ, cheer up, Winter boy, you’re in the Green City in the Sun! You look like you wanna drown yourself in that drink.”
He and the Contessa de la Fontaine were sitting at the extremely furnished bar, falsely relaxed, keeping an eye on the lounge area and entrance as they waited for the target. Zemo, Sam and Walker were on the outside of the building, hidden at different exits.
The venue was a high class nightclub belonging to one of the richest men of Nairobi, whose brother, the man they needed to interrogate, was embroiled in a variety of criminal activities. Many of them likely took place in this seemingly sophisticated location, among notorious men in tailored suits and beautiful women flaunting diamond pendants, on leather sofas and behind the dark satin curtains that shadowed private booths where money and drugs and information was exchanged. The countess had pulled quite the strings to get them an invite.
Their view was magnificent – from their vantage point they had an easy line of sight inwards at the packed center of the dance floor, full of moving bodies, and the glass walls behind them exposed the luminous skyscrapers of the Central Business District, which reminded Bucky of the Asian and North American big cities, but he couldn’t fully appreciate it, feeling tense for reasons that had nothing to do with the mission.
“We’re here to do a job, in case you’ve forgotten. If we don’t find him tonight, we’ll have to search at the Muthaiga tomorrow,” he muttered sullenly.
The countess’ presence didn’t exactly help his mood. She wasn’t even all that bad; they’d worked together successfully a couple of times, but he’d learnt it was better to never lower one’s guard around her.
“And would that be so bad? Muthaiga is a wonderful place for meeting all kinds of… interesting people.” Her eyes glinted at the prospect, and mischief colored her voice. Wandering strobe lights danced along her skin, casting her face in violet and bluish colors. She looked right at home in a spot like this, Bucky realized.
“I can only imagine,” he grumbled, his eyes narrowed.
She smiled indulgently and took a long sip of her drink before responding.“I’d have thought with all the time you’re spending with Zemo, these kinds of shifty places would have been just your cup of tea by now. He adores them. I think it is the… the decadence of them that he appreciates.”
“I’ve seen my fair share of shifty places, ma’am, believe me. And– I’m not spending time with Zemo. I– we only call him when we need him. I tolerate him, when I have to.”
“Sure,” she said in the sort of tone Bucky would have used if someone had told him Zemo wanted to become the new Captain America. She crossed her legs in an elegant movement. “So you’re not involved with him?”
“No,” he said tightly, perhaps a bit too quickly.
The countess only raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed.
“We’re not– we’re just allies,” he added, and then immediately wished he really could drown himself in his drink. The countess’ smile had gone from indulgent to mocking in a second.
“You know, you’re really not subtle, Winter boy. You two have clearly been fucking. A blind man could see it.”
Bucky cringed. He still hadn’t gotten used to the crudeness of this century’s ladies, this one’s in particular.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he replied coldly, glaring at his drink.
“Oh, please.” She gave a good-natured scoff. “I’ve heard rumors, seen how you look at each other with heart-shaped eyes, all of that jazz. It’s pretty damned evident you’re interested.” She nodded to the bartender, who immediately began to prepare her another Dawa.
Bucky’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Oh, I think I know enough. I’m pretty knowledgeable. It’s kind of my specialty,” she answered, winking at him. She exuded such an air of self-assurance that it couldn’t be a pretense. Bucky envied her a little.
“It’s just sex,” he said, caving in, futilely hoping to put an end to the discussion.
“You know, I met him in Sokovia once or twice, before that Ultron clusterfuck,” she said wistfully.
Bucky had figured that much by observing how Zemo and the countess interacted when they were in the same room together. He was pretty sure it hadn’t been only once or twice that they’d met. He’d even idly wondered if he ought to be jealous, before dismissing the notion, realizing Zemo wasn’t enough of a narcissist to be interested in someone so similar to himself. It was more of a detached curiosity that they regarded each other with, and delighted respect - the sort of acknowledgment two dangerous predators might share.
“That’s why I wanted him to be part of my team: I already knew he’s ruthless, quick-witted, resourceful. Not bad to look at, either.” She paused in her speech, and quickly halved the new drink in her hands. Bucky had begun to worry about her getting drunk in the middle of the mission, but she was already on her fourth one and still showed no signs of letting up.
“What I’m saying is he’s not that bad of a catch. I don’t see why you feel the need to hide your little crush. He’s probably the exception to chivalry being dead, which might be appealing if that were the kind of man I go for. And he’s clearly smitten with you, Winter boy, so I don’t understand why you’d deny it to yourself. It can’t be good to keep all that shit inside. Is it so wrong to want something good for yourself? From what they told me about your history, you damn well deserve it.”
Fuckin’ hell, he just wanted to finish this and go home. When had this conversation turned into a psychoanalysis of his personal life choices? They were in the middle of an op, for fucks sake.
He guessed the countess often had this effect on others.
“He uses people,” he finally gritted out. He didn’t know why he’d said it – it would only give her more ammunition.
In retrospect, he should have known better. Of course she wouldn’t just let this go. She was the type of person who enjoyed picking others apart to see how they worked, just like someone else Bucky knew.
It was never personal,Zemo had told him in Germany. You were simply a means to a necessary end.
Wasn’t he always.
“Only if they want him to,” the countess said then, terribly serious all of a sudden. The music and people around them had become background noise. She leaned towards him, lowering her voice. “Did you want him to use you?”
Had he?
“Must have.”
If Sam had been there, he would have rolled his eyes and scolded him for blaming himself once again for the things he’d done as the Winter Soldier. He imagined his psychologist – too professional to roll her eyes at him, saying you need to be kinder to yourself, James, acknowledge your desires, do what will make you happy, you deserve it, James, even if you don’t think so.
Which was weirdly and disturbingly similar to what the countess was telling him now.
But what kinda man would want to fuck the person who’d been the last in a long line to brainwash him? It wasn’t like he could talk about it with the psychologist who had to report to the US government if he was still crazy or rehabilitated. He didn’t need her input on this: he knew this… attraction, it wasn’t– it couldn’t be healthy. It was not something good for himself.
And still.
He hadn’t managed to stop.
It had already been a month since that first time in Moscow, and whatever had ignited that day was still burning high.
“Mhm. Is that so?” The countess commented mildly.
He actually considered the question as the silence stretched. He could see the countess observing him in that unnerving manner of hers in the corner of his eyes. In that, she was also very akin to Zemo.
“No, that– that’s not true. I didn’t want it, at the time.”
“And do you want it now?”
“Yes.”
“So, how’s it going, man? You need me to come pick you up?”
“Nah, I’m fine. Just… Well, you know both of them. You can imagine.”
“I wouldn’t exactly wanna be in your shoes, yeah.”
Hearing from Sam was a breath of fresh air after the days of steadily building tension in Zemo’s house. After said tension had reached a peak during the previous day’s lunch, and after his conversation with Zemo in the music room, Bucky had gone to talk to Steve too. His old friend had apologized for his behavior, but he’d avoided looking him in the eye and remained in a morose mood. Later, he hadn’t come down for dinner.
“You want to speak to Steve?” Bucky asked Sam.
“Already talked to him this morning.”
Bucky hadn’t expected that, although, he reflected, there really was no reason for Steve not to go back to being in touch with Sam, mainly to vent his frustrations about Bucky too, as it had been in the past.
“He called you?” he asked uselessly, trying to conceal his stupid bruised ego over the fact Steve had chosen to open up to Sam rather than to him.
“He did.”
“So you know what happened yesterday.”
“I do.” Sam’s voice sounded sympathetic.
“So? What do you think?”
It was true that Sam knew all of them, Bucky included, very well. Bucky valued his opinion and hoped his personal and professional insight could help him sort out his thoughts, which was why he was pretty annoyed with Sam’s non-answer: “I’m more interested in what you think, man.”
Bucky scoffed, running a nervous hand through his hair. He’d grown it out recently, enough that Zemo could comfortably grab it and pull it in the heat of the moment, but not so much that Bucky could only see the Soldier when he looked in the mirror. “Oh, come on, are you really pulling the ‘how does that make you feel’ on me?”
“I’m not, I just– Alright, I kinda am. I’d just like to know how you’re taking this whole situation, Steve’s return and its repercussions on you. I know I was shocked, so it can’t be easy for ya either,” Sam answered, his tone gentle. Bucky honestly thought people like him and Zemo didn’t deserve a friend like Sam sometimes.
“Well, I’m,” Bucky unconsciously lowered his voice, shaking his head at himself, “I’m fucking this up, Sam. With both of them. I don’t–”
“You’re not fucking this up, Buck,” Sam interrupted sternly.
Bucky gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I am. Or I will. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’m being a shitty friend and a shitty fellow.” He wasn’t even brave enough to be honest with Steve about his own relationship. Christ, he used to be an army soldier and a member of the Howling Commandos– sure, he was no Captain America, but he was supposed to have guts, spunk. Where had that courage gone?
“It’s gonna be fine, man, this is simply a period of adjustment to the new situation, you’ll understand how to deal with them coexisting with each other in your life. I mean, I kinda get it, as a young man I never liked to make my different groups of friends intermingle either.”
“Had any of your groups of friends ever tried to get another killed?” he asked sarcastically.
Sam snickered. “Whatever, be like that. Have you gained any information about– you know, why he’s here, how he came back? You said you told Steve about the existence of an older version of himself, no? So how did he react to that?”
“Yeah, he seemed to be confused and asked me a couple of questions about it later, but we didn’t delve into it. ‘S not like we knew that much about him either,” he said bitterly. “As for the rest, not really. Zemo and I’ve got some theories, though, and in the meantime I’ve also talked to Bruce.”
“You told Bruce Steve is back?” Sam asked with a touch of alarm. They’d already agreed the fewer people knew about it, the better, at least for the moment.
“No, of course not, I made up an excuse. Told him we needed the opinion of an expert on time travel for something we’re working on for Wakanda and therefore wanted to know more about Steve’s case.”
“Well, then, care to share with the class?”
Bucky looked at the time before starting to explain. It was almost one o’clock – soon Zemo would be coming down to the kitchen to start preparing lunch. Bucky would have to make a trip to the market later, because they were pretty much out of everything.
“I’m not even sure I’ve understood half of it, and we will surely have to talk with Shuri too, but essentially when Steve went back to the forties, he lived hidden somewhere for all his life with Peggy and so on, right? Which can’t be something that happened in our timeline, cause our Peggy got married to another man and had children and grandchildren with him. Also, Peggy never mentioned it.” He’d looked it up on the internet, seen the photos. Peggy’s husband seemed a kind and, from what he’d read, honorable man, although it was difficult to believe anyone could ever deserve a woman like Peggy Carter, apart from Steve.
“So you’re saying he created a new timeline when he left?”
“Yes. But then when he put the stones back in their places, he basically restored each timeline and came back to ours.”
“That makes sense… I guess. That means he lived in a sort of alternative history? He wasn’t actually here during all that time?” Sam clarified, still hesitant.
“Exactly. Well, at least Bruce thinks so. Although he stressed that he’s not sure, that more in depth research has to be done about the subject. He mentioned that he and Jane Foster are still analyzing what they know and picking through Tony Stark’s notes, and then he started to talk in scientific jargon and completely lost me.”
“Thought you liked sci-fi stories,” Sam teased.
“Yeah, but I always hated time travel narratives. They never get it right,” he complained.
“If you say so. I personally love Back to the Future.” Sam seemed to take a moment to gather his thoughts. “Okay, where does our ‘new’ Steve come in all of this?”
“That’s the trickiest part. An hypothesis is that he’s another… variant of him, born of the branching timeline he created in 2023. It’s as if–” He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “As if in the middle of finally living the quiet and happy life he always was supposed to live, he changed his mind for some reason and came back before the time he should have. Did. God, I think I’m getting a time travel headache.”
“You and I both. And how did he get here, then?”
“No fucking idea.”
“Why did he come back?”
Bucky was silent.
Sam huffed, plainly exasperated. “Man, you need to ask him. We have to figure out what’s going on.”
Bucky winced. “I know. I’ll do it this week, Sam, promise. I just need to find the right moment.”
Sam sighed heavily, sounding beyond tired. “There’s something else, Buck, I didn’t just call to chat, unfortunately. I spoke with John. There’s apparently been movement near Italy’s border with Austria.”
Bucky immediately went tense, his gut twisting uncomfortably.
“Movement?”
“Trafficking, mainly, though he didn’t tell me much else, you know how the countess is. But the fact that she indirectly told me to warn you…”
“It’s Hydra,” he stated, jaw set.
“Probably. Just– keep your eyes open, 'kay? And tell me if you notice anything off. I have a meeting tonight with the veep, but I can be there in less than 24 hours if you need me, alright?”
“Will do. Thanks, Sam.”
That afternoon, of course, he found himself being chased through Rome by what could only be a small squad of new Hydra agents.
He’d been at the market when he’d noticed he was being followed by what were probably two of the worst tails he’d ever encountered. They did run fast though – something he discovered after he’d left the market square and they’d tried to kidnap him in the backstreets of the city using a knockout dart, missing him only by a couple of centimeters. He’d taken off, bolting past street vendors and stalls, and three more men had appeared to join the chase.
Bucky managed to isolate one of them in an alley he ducked into, and waited for him hidden behind a dumpster, coming out at the right moment to knock him unconscious. He searched his pockets, put one of the trackers he’d made a habit of always keeping with him on the Hydra asshole in a place Bucky hoped he would take a while to notice, and then left, jumping between different paths and transportation to be sure he wasn’t still being followed before going home.
“Okay, I’ll have someone here analyze these coordinates and call you back as soon as we have something useful,” Sam said over the phone half an hour later, after he and Zemo had sent him the findings of the data pusher.
Bucky sighed wearily as he cut the call, slumping down into a chair by the kitchen table.
They’d tried to take him back. Even these new Hydra groups, small and unorganized, knew about him, looked for him. They wanted him back, no– wanted the Winter Soldier back. As if he was still their property, a thing to be handed down from generation to generation. He ran a hand through his hair, only to find that it was shaking.
Zemo brought him a cup of tea. He thanked him, thinking he was going to need a lot more of it to deal with this.
“Fuck,” he exhaled, staring at the beverage he was holding without really seeing it. “It never stops, huh? They just keep regenerating like an actual motherfuckin’ mythological creature.”
“All mythological creatures can be defeated by a hero in the end, though,” Zemo said softly.
Bucky shook his head, looking up at him. “You know I’m no hero,” he said dryly.
“Mh. If not a hero, perhaps an avenger? You want to hurt those who hurt you, to set things right.”
“I’m not that either,” he said, a little strained, thinking of Steve. The vengeance he sought against Hydra involved none of Steve’s idealistic nobility.
“A fighter, then. A survivor. Like me,” Zemo said.
Zemo’s response should not have warmed him the way that it did.
“Maybe that, yeah,” he acquiesced with a small grin, drinking his tea.
Sam sent an address with all of the Hydra base information an hour later.
“It’s an abandoned building in the countryside around Rome, constructed around thirty years ago for a big fair that never took place,” he explained when he called them again.
Bucky peered at the photos he’d received, already assessing entrance options before Sam had the time to tell them about it. Two main exits were visible. Maybe three. Getting in wouldn’t be too hard, it seemed. Who knew what the fuck they would find inside though.
“They’ll make another move soon,” Zemo declared when Sam finished debriefing them.
Bucky nodded grimly. “So we’ll move first.”
They decided to do it that very night. Bucky went to warn Steve, who had not left his room all day, of what had happened and the fact that he and Zemo would not be home that evening. Initially he had considered keeping Steve in the dark about where they were going and what they were planning, making up an excuse to justify their absence, as he knew very well that Steve would have demanded to be part of the mission as soon as he knew it was about Hydra. In the end, however, he had decided not to add another lie to the growing pile.
“Come in.”
Bucky closed the door behind him.
“Bucky. Everything alright?”
Steve was clearly still sore from what had happened the day before. He hadn’t come to Bucky’s room that night, and Bucky hadn’t known whether that had made him feel relieved or miserable. There was something unwelcoming in the flatness of his tone when he spoke and he didn’t so much as glance up from the drawing he was making. He must have found the necessary tools somewhere in the house, Bucky thought distantly, and was now tracing the outlines of an imposing Brooklyn Bridge.
Steve had tried to teach him to draw when they’d been around fifteen, but without results: Bucky was always getting distracted, always moving, bouncing a leg or twirling the pencil in his hands, too jittery and hyperactive to sit down and just focus on the drawing. Nowadays though, Bucky was always very still, focused, quiet. Being tortured and punished for seventy years will do that to you. Words were still hard sometimes. Perhaps he could ask Steve to try and teach him how to bring out his inner feelings on paper again one of these days.
“Not exactly,” he said, and that caught Steve’s attention: he immediately looked up at him, forgetting his sketch and frowning anxiously.
“What happened?”
Bucky sat down and started to tell him.
Telling Steve went exactly as Bucky had expected it to, which was to say, terribly. It was almost time to go and Bucky still had to change into his gear, but it was proving difficult to leave.
“You can’t come with us, they can’t know you’re back. It’s already a motherfuckin’ miracle nobody recognized you yet!” Bucky burst out, fighting the need to throw something. He felt the same kind of impotent rage he’d experienced whenever he’d had to talk Steve out of a fight or nurse him afterwards before Steve had gotten the strength to back up his stubbornness.
Zemo had come up at some point, ostensibly to alert him to the time, but likely because he had heard their angry shouting. He’d been listening to the altercation in silence, leaning against the doorframe of Steve’s room, until now, when he made a face.
“What?” Bucky asked.
“Well, my theory is actually that that is how they found you,” Zemo mused sedately.
That brought both of them up short. “You mean they followed Steve?”
Zemo was observing Steve as he answered. “We’ve known for months Hydra is now mainly based in Germany, which is where he travelled from to get here. They were already smuggling something in Italy. It is reasonable to imagine they saw someone who looked like Steve Rogers and thought that if it really was him you wouldn’t be far away.”
“So they figured they’d kill two birds with one stone,” Bucky concluded, a bit dazed. “Fuck. Well– It doesn’t matter how they traced us to Rome as long as they don’t know precisely where we’re staying.” Which they didn’t, otherwise they would already have been here. Still, he couldn’t help but look warily towards the windows.
Steve spoke up again, immovable. “I won’t let you go on your own, Buck.”
Bucky made a frustrated noise in response. “I won’t be on my own. You just came back, Steve, I… Fuck, I can’t–” I can'tprotect you.I can'tlose you again. “Please, for one goddamn time in your life, just listen and wait here.”
“Buck, I ain’t just gonna sit while–”
“If we’re wrong and they don’t know about you being here,” he added, because of course that wouldn’t have been enough to stop the idiot, Bucky would have to resort to strategic thinking to make him listen, “we don’t want to give ‘em more intel. If there are other bases–”
“I don’t care–”
“Gentlemen,” Zemo interrupted them, now sounding exquisitely bored by their discussion, “we’re running out of time. If they noticed the tracker they might already be moving the base somewhere else. We need to go.”
Bucky closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. “Steve. Stay here.” He opened his eyes, pleading with his gaze for him to listen. “If we’re not back by tonight, call Sam.”
Steve didn’t say anything, even as he watched them leave.
On the outskirts of the city, the rich scent of earth and trees covered the smell of smog. Although the highway wasn’t that far, the area was silent, the noises of cars and trucks speeding along the road imperceptible. They drove for a bit and then, when they were close, left the car hidden by the road and started to walk. Despite the fact that it was almost eight in the evening, it was still extremely hot, and Bucky felt sticky in his gear. When they arrived near enough to the facility that they could study the best access without being seen, they crouched down in a field and waited for dusk, weapons at the ready. In the weak light, Zemo looked thinner and haunted as he scanned the small windows on the upper floor of the base.
“Alright, let’s fuck ‘em up,” Bucky said finally.
“After you,” Zemo said with a graceful gesture of his hand, and they went.
Getting in was, as expected, easy enough: the entrance was guarded by two men who didn’t see them until it was too late. Inside there was a wide space with iron staircases and an overlooking balcony, and grey doors to either side. They got through the first line of defense without making too much noise, but then an alarm was sounded and more and more Hydra agents flooded into their area of the building.
Twenty minutes later, Bucky had a shot to his thigh that had gone clean through, and Zemo was almost out of ammunition. They were surrounded by the last dozen of agents that had been in the base, which wouldn’t have been that hard of a fight if they hadn’t just been in combat with almost three times as many of them before.
The first ones had been easy to get rid of, as they’d stealthily moved through the building, discovering desks full of what appeared to be folders of documents and, in some of the rooms, large sealed containers. It didn’t feel much different than it had in the war, kicking Nazi Krauts’ asses. It was even more satisfying now: this time, it was much more personal. Bucky and Zemo were only two, though, and although Zemo was a trained professional he didn’t have a super soldier’s stamina. He’d begun to grow sloppy.
Luckily, the new Hydra group seemed to be pretty complacent – or stupid – so their surveillance levels hadn’t been too high: only around a quarter of the men in the facility were equipped with firearms, most of which they’d managed to disarm. Still, they were outmatched now, and soon found themselves held at gunpoint from all directions. Suddenly, an accented voice came from behind them.
“So nice of you to come back to us of your own free will, Soldier.”
Bucky recognized the man’s voice before he circled around to face him, stopping in front of Bucky with an exceedingly smug expression: Dmitri Sarkov, ex-KGB and close associate of one of his last handlers. He’d disappeared after Hydra’s fall and had been considered dead when they found a body that resembled him.
Bucky remembered he had found it amusing to put out his cigarettes on the Soldier’s skin. So it was Hydra’s old guard that was shaping up the new one.
“Are you surprised, asset?” Sarkov asked when Bucky stayed silent, pointedly giving Sarkov nothing.
Bucky spat at him, only refraining from firing his gun because he knew even if he’d managed to kill Sarkov at least five hails of bullets would reach them, and if Bucky could perhaps survive that, Zemo certainly wouldn’t.
Sarkov didn’t flinch, even smirking a little. He drew close, ignoring Zemo’s gun pointed at him as if it wasn’t there, and Bucky could feel Zemo tense beside him.
“I can’t wait to finally have you under my control, you know,” Sarkov murmured. “We will have to fix you in order for you to function properly again, since you seem to have forgotten to whom you belong, but I’m sure it won’t take long.”
Humiliation and rage filled Bucky, making him forget his resolve to not attack. Driven by fury, he raised his weapon, aiming automatically, mind empty of any other thought than kill the target.
A moment before he pulled the trigger, a shield came zooming past like a bullet, hitting the Russian in the stomach and throwing him several meters away.
Steve had come. Of fucking course.
That was enough to tip the scale.
In the end, Bucky put a gun to Dmitri Sarkov’s head, who was on his knees in front of him, spitting blood and defiantly silent. He had to shoot him twice, the first time in his shoulder, the second in his leg, before he started to talk. Zemo went to retrieve an encrypted USB containing all the relevant information about the trafficking in the room the man had said they would find it in, while Steve stood keeping guard on the other defeated agents on the floor. Bucky didn’t lower the gun by a centimeter all the while.
“He told the truth,” Zemo confirmed when he returned, showing the device in his hand.
“Good,” Bucky said, and his hand was steady when he put a bullet through Dmitri’s head, killing him instantly. The gunshot resounded in the enormous empty space followed, a second later, by the sound of the body falling heavily to the ground. Zemo, like him, didn’t bat an eye, and was already checking the other men’s pockets after slitting their throats.
This wasn’t how they usually handled things. Normally, they would wait for the Dora Milaje or the local law enforcement to apprehend the villain of the week. But Hydra was different.
Bucky could feel Steve watching him though, and he’d heard his small intake of breath when he’d fired the gun. When he turned to him, however, Steve glanced away in a hurry.
Was he disturbed by his coldbloodedness? Disappointed in him?
Steve had seen him as the Winter Soldier in the past, more than once. Maybe he had forgotten what he could be like.
Had he also forgotten, Bucky wondered bitterly, that it was Hydra that had moulded him to be good at this? That they deserved this and so much worse, because even if this wasn’t the same people as the ones who’d altered his body and rearranged his mind, Hydra was all the same, all rotten and vicious all around the fucking world?
Bucky wished he himself could forget, although he knew it would never happen, not even when the very last of Hydra was finally destroyed.
Was Steve regretting coming to help? Would he have rather avoided the reminder of who his best friend had become?
That was awfully unfair to Steve, he knew. It was an ugly thought, but Bucky was feeling off-kilter, unsteady– his skin was crawling even though his mind was numb, and he was wishing there had been more Hydra operatives to kill. He noticed Sarkov’s blood had almost reached his feet, and took a careful step back. His chest felt tight, but he forced himself to ignore it and move.
As he walked by Zemo he passed him his last loaded gun, but the man stopped him, putting a hand on his neck and squeezing almost enough to hurt. When Bucky turned, he could smell gunpowder and the worn leather of Zemo’s glove, and he inhaled and exhaled deeply, shakily. The pressure on his neck was comforting, steady. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed the human contact until he felt its grounding effect, partially bringing him back to himself – whoever that meant.
You’re not just a mindless killing machine. You’re a person. You’re your own person.
The mantra contributed to calming him a little.
He exchanged a quick wordless conversation with Zemo – ‘m fine, not freaking out yet – and in that moment he didn’t even care about Steve surreptitiously observing them from where he’d also started to search the bodies.
Then Zemo nodded imperceptibly, releasing him, and Bucky went to the closest exit, the wound in his leg already healing. He peered outside carefully, but there seemed to be no one. They inspected the rest of the areas of the facility and the outside. Most of the building had still been unused. Weeds pushed through the cracks in the cement where a part of the infrastructure had collapsed. They took photos of the vibranium they found in the containers and of everything else and sent them to Sam, picked up the folders of documents and, careful not to be followed, they went home.
Restlessness still coursed through his body hours later, keeping him steepling his fingers on his leg and staring fixedly at his plate all throughout dinner, during which Zemo kept up conversation almost solely on his own. Not long after Steve had retired to sleep, Zemo practically dragged him to their bedroom and fucked that restlessness out of him. Later, Bucky trailed his fingertips over Zemo’s chest, feeling clearer, more centered. The numbness in his mind seemed to have receded, at least for now, replaced by simple tiredness.
“We would not have made it today if Rogers hadn’t come to the rescue.”
Oh, he was so not equipped for a serious conversation right now. He grunted in low agreement, hoping Zemo would let the subject drop.
“Perhaps if he’s still feeling the need to be a hero, we could send him on our next missions in our place, what do you think?” Although the words might have seemed cutting, Zemo’s tone was light.
Bucky huffed into the crook of Zemo’s neck.
“Sure,” he answered without moving from there, his voice rough at the edges. “We could send him ‘round dressed in a new stupid hero costume, so he’s not recognizable, and we’d finally get a coupla months of well deserved vacation.”
“What a marvelous idea,” Zemo said, and Bucky could hear the amused smile in his voice. “We’d turn off our phones for a bit and disappear so that even Shuri can’t bother us. We could return to Moscow, and then I have always been curious to see Novosibirsk,” he continued.
Bucky knew Zemo in fact liked Shuri a lot, and also that the Dora Milaje would probably find them in less than three days if they actually did that, but it was nice to fantasize. He did miss Siberia, despite everything. “I never had the chance to, before. Would you be so kind as to show me around the city, solnishko?” Zemo asked, as if they were already there and Zemo were a tourist flirting with a local girl.
Bucky felt a tremendous rush of fondness for the man beside him, and raised his head a little to look at him. “Sure thing, doll,” he murmured with a sly grin and a Brooklyn accent.
“Wonderful.”
Bucky let his eyes fall closed, exhausted after the day’s fight, and let Zemo stroke his hair. Worn out to his bones and satisfied, lulled by Zemo’s Sokovian sweet nothings, it didn’t take him long to fall into a deep sleep.