Chapter 10
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“Do you still miss him?” Zemo had asked him one day, a few months into their relationship.
“Who?”
“Steve Rogers. I still miss my wife profoundly, sometimes,” Zemo had said, and although he wasn’t looking in his direction, Bucky could still feel the weight of Zemo’s attention upon him.
It had taken Bucky a second too long to answer.
“It’s not the same thing,” he’d eventually said.
Zemo had huffed. “Isn’t it?”
After dinner, Bucky had gone to his room and laid down on his bed, waiting for Zemo to return. He knew he’d have to talk to him about what had almost happened with Steve, but at some point, he’d fallen asleep. He’d woken up hours later, and somehow he’d instinctively known that Zemo still hadn’t come home.
He searched for Zemo in the whole house and confirmed he’d never come back from his walk.
“Stupid,” he said out loud without meaning to, nearly startling at the ugly, unfamiliar sound of his own voice in the silence of the corridor. He should have stayed awake. Dread gathered in his stomach, tight, tense. He tried to tell himself to calm down, that Zemo knew how to contact him if something bad happened; they’d already had their fair share of attempted kidnappings, and had developed a specific system of communication for such occurrences. Still, if Zemo–
“Buck?”
Fuck. He must have made enough noise to wake Steve. Bucky turned, and there he was, leaning against the doorframe. His blonde hair was disheveled from sleep, but he had the alert gaze of someone used to being ready to fight at a moment’s notice.
“Is everything alright?” Steve asked, coming closer.
“Yeah, don’t worry, it’s just– Zemo isn’t back yet, and it’s almost two in the morning, so I was wondering where he might be.”
“Oh.”
“It’s probably nothing though,” Bucky told him with a small reassuring smile. “Go back to sleep, I’ll call you if I need you.” Apparently, the tiredness had removed the awkward weirdness between them from earlier that evening.
“I shouldn’ta done what I did today, Buck, I’m sorry,” Steve said then, his voice a little thick. “I should have asked.”
Never mind. It seemed Bucky had assumed they were over that a little bit too soon.
“Stevie, it’s– it’s fine, okay? I’m sorry I acted like an asshole about it at dinner. Let’s just move on.” He pocketed his keys as he spoke and went to put on his jacket, telling himself he wasn’t running away, trying to banish from his mind the memory of Steve’s body close to his own, almost caging him, as their breaths had mingled in the instants before that almost-kiss in his bedroom.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to go look for Zemo.”
“Wait, I’ll come with you,” Steve said, already starting to head to his room to change before Bucky stopped him.
“No, there’s no need, really,” he said quickly.
If Zemo really was in danger, Bucky might have needed Steve’s help. If, on the other hand, as he suspected, this was Bucky’s reckoning for the appalling way he’d treated Zemo since Steve had returned, it’d be best to go to him alone. He could always call Steve later if he did end up needing a hand.
Steve gave a bitter laugh. “Jesus, are you serious? How long do you plan to keep trying to avoid me for, exactly? I said I was sorry–”
Bucky made a frustrated noise in response. “It’s not– I’m not trying to avoid you, okay?” At least not for the reason Steve thought.
“Then why don’t you want me to come help you find him? What if this is Hydra again?”
“Steve…” What could he tell him? ‘I think Zemo’s jealous of you, and if you came with me now it would only make things worse’?
Steve’s eyes bored into him, a frown pulling at his brow. “You’re hiding something from me, Buck. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I know you too well not to,” he murmured reproachfully.
Bucky bristled, worry and annoyance flaring up at his friend’s accusation. “Look who’s talking. ‘S not like you’ve been an open book recently, have you?”
Steve clenched his jaw briefly, not answering that. Which was basically an answer by itself.
“I’m gonna go,” Bucky said curtly, turning on his heel.
“Wait, Buck, Bucky, wait.” Steve grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket. Bucky turned back slightly, stopping and looking at him over his shoulder. “I know I haven’t been completely honest. I’m sorry about that too.” Steve looked down at where he was holding his arm before continuing. “But I am worried about you. If, if you have someone that takes care of you that’s fine, that’s wonderful, really, but what I see instead is you still putting yourself in danger to go after Hydra, and you being buddies – living – with one of your old handlers, and Sam told me you’ve gone off therapy too. I’m just afraid you might be–”
“Well, yeah, it seems I’m not living the tranquil, retired perfect life you’d dreamt for me, sorry to disappoint.” Maybe if you’d stayed, he thought bitterly, but no, you hadto go live your dream life on your own. “And I don’t need you to babysit me, Rogers.”
Steve didn’t know anything about his current life. The government’s therapist had mostly been useless, anyway. After he’d ended his mandatory attendance he’d continued going for a year or two, but only out of a sense of guilt. As if itwould somehow erase what he’d done.
He’d thought about simply changing shrinks at some point, but he’d then slowly realized the progress he was making couldn’t really be attributed to therapy. What he did need to feel better was the rush of the fight, the belief he was doing something tangible to redeem himself, to leave behind a better world than the one he’d found, and if that meant getting his hands dirty, then so be it.
Sleepless nights after a particularly violent mission, when he could only find solace in listening to Zemo’s quiet breathing, found him lying in the darkness, thinking about Steve, hoping that although he perhaps wouldn’t have approved of what they did, he would at least have understood.
“Buck, I’m not disappointed in you,” and Steve said it like the only thought of him being disappointed in Bucky was inconceivable, ludicrous. Bucky was warmed by it for a second, before Steve’s next words made his blood run cold. “It’s just that when I decided to listen to Peggy and come back to the future, I’d hoped in the meantime you–”
Bucky went still. His skin prickled. “When you decided to listen to Peggy?” he repeated quietly, interrupting him.
Steve’s shoulders slumped, and a wide-eyed, remorseful expression appeared on his face before he averted his gaze.
“What’s that mean?”
Steve shut his eyes tight and remained silent.
Bucky suddenly felt sick, shaky. His pulse was pounding in his ears. He felt like he was in shock.
“Does that– Did Peggy tell you to come back? Did you not–” he asked, and the words caught in his throat.
“She gave me the idea, yeah,” Steve blurted out, finally opening his eyes and staring everywhere but at him. The words were like a physical blow, sending all the air out of his lungs and making his whole body go rigid. “But that doesn’t matter. And I’m not here to babysit you, Bucky, I just wanna make sure you’re okay. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. You know it,” Steve continued, his tone urgent, gaining confidence as he went on, with a frown that eased into a thin, earnest smile.
Bucky took a few steps back, almost unconsciously, coming to a stop near the hallway cabinet in the middle of the corridor, one hand clutching the edge. He had the stupid feeling that he would fall down if he let go.
“Buck, I came back for you. I came back for you, and if you think I–”
He stopped listening, closed his eyes. There was a vice around his chest, and the pounding continued in his head.
He knew his rage was irrational. It shouldn’t matter that Steve hadn’t decided to return on his own. Why would it matter? The important thing was Steve was back with him now.
Except it did. Matter. It made Bucky feel alone, like when he’d been ten and thought some new kid would steal away his best friend; betrayed, like in 1943, when he’d just been rescued and had to watch as the new, shinier version of Steve fell in love with someone else, all the while Bucky attempted to figure out what the fuck a bunch of Nazi scientists had done to his body inbetween the torture sessions.
It made him want to put his fist through the wall, to pummel the hell out of the closest heavy bag. He knew his rage was irrational, but even knowing it, it was still there.
Fuck, he couldn’t think about this right now. He had to find Zemo.
“I can’t do this. Not now.” He took his phone from the cabinet and began walking briskly to the front door. “Please call me if Zemo comes home.”
“Buck, wait, about Peggy, let me just explain–”
Bucky stopped breathing for a second, heart stuttering in his chest.
“This really isn’t the time, Steve.” He didn’t turn to look back at Steve as he opened the door. He didn’t think he could.
“Wait, let me come with–”
“No need,” Bucky answered tightly before Steve could even finish speaking. “I’ll be back soon.”
He closed the door behind him with a little more force than necessary, and started to search for Zemo, his teeth clenched, his thoughts spinning.
He found him, eventually, in a club a couple of miles from the house. Thank God the GPS tracking the Wakandans had installed in all their phones still worked.
When he reached him, he became aware that an air of grief and sourness surrounded the Sokovian man.
He had never seen Zemo like this, not since Siberia. When they’d come out of the club Bucky had smelled the alcohol on him, but by the time they arrived home he appeared to have sobered up.
They were now standing in the kitchen, and the silence was suffocating – after he’d fallen into step next to Zemo and they’d headed back they hadn’t spoken another word.
It was past four in the morning by now. Steve must have gone back to sleep after he’d left.
Bucky’s mouth was dry, and there was a tension inside him he couldn’t quite put a name to. It felt like they were on the precipice of something terrible, like in the seconds before he’d fallen from that goddamned train in the Alps.
That same sense of inevitability made him remember everything that had led up to this moment, and a nauseous loathing seethed deep inside his stomach. Everything, all of this was wrong. Zemo had never been angry at him. He had to explain, had to clarify what had and hadn’t happened with Steve.
He had no fucking idea how to start.
“I’ll make coffee, and then we’ll talk,” he settled on, in a pathetic attempt to buy himself some time.
Zemo nodded wordlessly, mouth flattening to a grim line, and went to sit at the table, his gaze turned toward the dawn that was beginning to glimpse through the windows. He looked otherworldly, and Bucky found himself shivering.