Imprint

Rusted ships dotted the coast along the ship yard. Boats of all shapes and sizes littered the docks, either waiting for repairs or to be stripped of parts until they resembled nothing more than the old bones of a beached whale. Bucky sequestered himself in the hollow of a large fiberglass hull cracked open down the middle. It provided excellent cover while leaving him free to watch Zemo bribe the dockmaster about fifty feet away.

Things were becoming…complicated with the Baron. There had to be another screw loose in Bucky’s brain because twice now he hadn’t hesitated to rush to Zemo’s defense when he was in danger. Maybe it was something ingrained in him from a lifetime of looking out for Steve, a strong desire to protect those by his side. It hadn’t been a conscious thought though. It felt more like a compulsion. He physically couldn’t not come to the Baron’s aid. Maybe it was some… messed up shared trauma bonding? Dr. Raynor had spoken about it in their sessions. No, it couldn’t be that. He’d been through so much with Dumdum, Jim and the other Commandos but his bond with them never reached the level it had with Steve, or with… with Sam. The thought of either of them getting hurt made him palpably ill.

The hushed glide and low whine of repulsors heralded Sam’s arrival. He swooped in, landing to Bucky’s left. “What’s up Bionic man.”

Bucky didn’t break his stare; eyes still glued to the man in the pompous purple coat, watching his hand gesticulate while negotiating in rapid German. Zemo, who had used him as a tool against Steve, was somehow now on his very short list of ‘must survive at all costs’. Hell, Bucky hadn’t even made that list.

“Don’t fry a processor doin’ all that thinking.”

Nevermind. Now the greater question is why Sam is on that list.

“Still hate you.” He griped, finally breaking his monotonous vigil. “Did you catch any markings on those guys?”

“Nothing.” Sam fiddled with his goggles and wrist screen. Probably searching through the camera feed for clues. “I don’t think they’re a militant group. It was too uncoordinated. They shot more of their own people than we did. And it can’t be Karli.”

Bucky shakes his head and begins pacing, agitated by Sam’s continued defense of the terrorist. “Why can’t it be Karli?”

Sam steps in his way. Bucky tries to turn away and pace the other direction but Sam places a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He forces eye contact and speaks low and deliberately. “You didn’t see her. She believes in her cause, and her cause is her people. I got through to her, we forged a connection! She wanted to meet peacefully. Karli didn’t send those people.”

Bucky waits for Sam to blink before throwing his hands up in frustration, dislodging Sam’s arm. “Fine! So it’s not Karli.” He sits down on a rusty beam, propping his elbows on his knees. He checks on their third member, who appears to be concluding his business. “Who else wants to kill us?”

“Nobody screamed’ Hail Hydra’ when I was kickin’ their ass.”

Bucky sighs and scrubs his face. “They don’t always say that.”

 “They definitely always say that.” Sam contradicts with a laugh.

They do say it a lot. Bucky’s not going to validate him out loud though.“Its gotta be the Power Broker.” He supplies instead. “Those guys were probably bounty hunters. But if he’s as mad as Sharon says the hit squad won’t be far behind.”

Zemo saunters over in time to catch the tail end of their conversation. “I agree with James’ assessment. Which is why we should make haste to the Alexia. The captain has graciously allowed us the use of his cabin for our journey. Come, It would be wise to wait there until departure. “

Bucky slaps his hands on his knees and pushes against them to rise. “You’re not gunna tell us where we’re going, are you?” he asks tiredly.

The baron’s smile is all smugness and sweet. “I will explain once we are at sea.”

“You know we can always dump you overboard, right?” Sam asks, falling in beside Bucky.

“Trust me, Sam. You will need me for this plan.”

Bucky perks up. Did he hear that right? A Plan? Plans are great.

The captain’s cabin is nice and spacious for a ship. Which means it’s a little cramped for three people.  The front right end of the cabin is a kitchenette, complete with sink and microwave. Across from it is a small table bolted to the floor and a corner booth that could be a comfortable seat for two, or for three if you crammed. A book case cuts the room in half, creating a divider to hide the queen bed in the back left. A private lavatory fills in the last space in the back right.

Bucky makes a B-line for the kitchenette. He riffled through the cupboards until he hit the jackpot. Whiskey. “Any takers?” He offers.

 “Yeah, just give me a minute to get these wings off.” Sam affirms, disappearing around the bookcase.

“If you would. Ice would be appreciated.” Zemo says, sinking into to the corner booth. “For my head that is. “

For about an hour things settle into a comfortable routine. They nurse their drinks. They take turns showering. Bucky and Sam clean their equipment, arm and wings respectively.  Zemo probably would have cleaned his gun, but all of their equipment was stowed in the jet or in the safe house. They’d taken only what they had on them when they fled, so they were stuck in their grimy clothes until they reached their destination.

It's dark by the time they're finished, but they're still left with an excess of time. Or rather, Bucky is left with time. Both Zemo and Sam happily tapped away at their little smart phones. The former was arranging whatever he needed for the next step, the latter checking on his family.

Bucky drifts over to the book case. The books were bound in white leather, blank spines offering no clue of the contents within. Tapping each spine, he counted out ‘ennie meenie minie mo”, ending on the last book on the second shelf. He tugged sharply. It remained firmly in place. What the hell. Did the guy set it down in something sticky? He wrenched harder and gasped “ohshit” as the entire shelf ripped out along with the book. Apparently everything was glued down.

“You uh… you alright there Buck?” He didn’t want to turn around and see that little smile on Sam’s face. He could hear it. He knew it was there.

“Yeah, yeah, just… “He shook the book, trying to dislodge it. The hardback finally separated, allowing the shelf with all the other books and tiny decorative plants to clatter to the floor.

And the book was blank. Just to add salt to the wound.

“Because you look like you’re havin’ a struggle.”

Bucky threw the book on the table in frustration. He hurled himself down in the seat next to Sam, forcing the two to squeeze to accommodate him. “Doesn’t anyone read anymore?”

“Most people get books on their phones nowadays. Way easier than carrying around a stack of books.”

“Many of the classics are freely available as well.” Zemo chimed in. “Bram Stoker’s Dracula is a personal favorite of mine. The way he challenged the issues of women and sex positivity of the time is simply brilliant.”

Sam slowly turns and stares at him incredulously “Nobody asked you!”

“It’s true.” Bucky shrugged, taking a sip of whiskey. Sam whipped back to stare at Bucky with utter betrayal. Oh sweet vengeance.

“I don’t want to hear about sex positivity from a guy that hasn’t even been on a date since the nineteen forties.”

“I’ve been on a date. In fact I went on a date the day before our mission.” Bucky shoots back, crossing his arms defensively.

“Oh yeah? With who?” He finds it a little insulting that Sam clearly doesn’t believe him. Zemo’s leaning forward, elbows on the table, clearly interested in where this is going.

He narrowed his eyes and stared off into the distance, wracking his brain. “…She never actually told me. Ah-“ Bucky cuts Sam off as he opens his mouth to interject. “She’s the nice dame who runs the bar at Izyy’s.”

“Uhuh.”

“But it was a date!” Bucky insisted, jabbing his friend in the arm. “I brought flowers and everything.”

“mmhmm, mmhmm. And what else?” Sam’s doing that thing where he nods like he believes him but actually didn’t and just wanted him to continue digging a hole.

“We exchanged witty banter. Played Battleship. Had some drinks. It was nice...” Bucky trails off and shrugs, placing his hands on the table and twiddling his thumbs.

Sam rolled his hand, encouraging him to continue. “And then?”

“and then I… “ Bucky sucked in a breath, bracing himself. “…something came up and I went home.”

It’s a surreal moment when Zemo chuckled, simply because as much as the man loves to fling around smug smirks and surprisingly genuine appearing smiles, they’ve never heard him laugh. It’s honestly a little creepy. He’s looking a little rosy around the cheeks. They both are, actually.“Ah. You ‘chickened out’.”

“I didn’t chicken out!” Bucky insisted, leaning towards him to crowd his space. The man remains unperturbed, as usual. “I just had very important things to do. It was real disappointing. We were gunna go dancing and everything.”

Bucky and Zemo both leap back in their seats as Sam sputters, spraying whiskey everywhere. “You?” He asks disbelievingly once his coughing is under control. “You dance!?”

Bucky’s mouth drops open when even Zemo is giving him a skeptical look. He shakes his head “Why is that so hard to believe? I can dance!” He gestures to himself, the fine specimen that is Bucky Barnes. Of course he knows how to dance. Women practically threw themselves at him back in the day, and it’s not a successful date without a little dancing.

Sam raised his brows and ‘pphhhtttt’ed. He took a long drag of whiskey and slammed the empty glass down. “Prove it.” He challenged.

 “You want me to prove it?”

“That’s what I said isn’t it?”

“Ok.” Bucky said, pushing out of his seat and moving into the middle of the cabin, the only open space large enough to accommodate his smooth moves. “Ok I’ll prove it.” He held a hand out to Sam expectantly.

“What?” He asked, looking confused.

“Can’t dance without a partner.” Bucky elaborated.

Sam stubbornly stays put. “I know how to dance. You’re the one getting tested.”

He tsks and shakes his head “alright, if you’re too scared.”

The tiny bolted-down table rattles as Sam slaps his hands down and levers himself up. He stalks forward the three paces it takes to reach Bucky and clasped his hand. Bucky’s grin is sharp as he tugs Sam forward, wrapping his other arm around his broad back. “Just do what I do. And try to keep up.”

Sam laughs breathlessly, shaking his head.“I don’t know if I’m too sober or too drunk for this right now.” He does as he’s told, imitating Bucky by wrapping his left arm around him. Then he’s clinging on for dear life as Bucky whirls them around, feet scrabbling to find purchase as they whirl, right arm being dipped towards the ground “- whoa whoa slow down!”

Bucky huffs a quiet laugh and Sam can feel it. Feel it in the chest he’s pressed against, feel it puff of breath across the top of his head. “Alright. Now pull away.“ They separate, right hands lingering together before letting go. Sam follows Buck’s motions closely: one arm sweeping out, right leg circling in and crossing over the left. Then a little toe tap and a hop, and it’s the reverse motion on the left. Tap, uncross and sweep out. Then Bucky’s doing a little slide and what looks like an inverted Dab and Sam loses it. He collapses back against a table, laughing so hard his legs refuse to support him. Bucky can’t even use the excuse of alcohol to explain the outrageous embarrassed blush blooming across his face. Damn super soldier serum and its high metabolism not allowing to him get drunk.

“Come on, cut me some slack. It’s been ninety years.”

Sam’s still laughing too much to answer, struggling to drag himself back into his seat on wobbly legs. The Baron offers him an encouraging smile. “Graceful as a swan. It is fascinating, from a historical perspective. I can see the root of many modern dances in your demonstration. I may like to try it, when I am more sober.”

Sam flaps a hand, seemingly unable to rise from here he’s managed to half flop in the booth. “He’s right. That stuff, it reminds me of the old Southern Jazz dancing. My sis and I love that kind of stuff.”

Fully placated that his dancing skills were not in question Bucky rejoined them at the table, helping Sam into a more upright position. He poured another round. “Your turn.”

Sam reeled back, confused. “My turn? I think I just proved I am way too drunk to try dancing.”

“To tell me about your last date. I kissed and told, now it’s your turn.”

Bucky can tell instantly that he's stumbled into a landmine. The other pair have clammed up and the mood in the room is rapidly becoming somber. "You don't have to."

"No. It's fair." Sam stares into his glass as if it holds all the answers. He spins it back and forth in his fingers, watching the light dance and refract through the diamond patterning near the bottom. “I had some hook ups. Online dating and all that. It never led to anything serious.” He shrugs offhand. “My last real date was with Riley. He’d kill me for calling it a date. He was a little old fashioned like you. ‘Dinner, movie, or drinks’ “ He imitated in a deeper voice. “He took me mini golfing in the desert. Made our own course out of sticks and rocks. whatever we could find.” He smiled softly. “We had a lot of good dates but I always remember that one the best.”

Bucky reached across to refill the Baron’s glass. The man hadn’t looked up once during Sam’s story. He remained motionless when the decanter tapped against his cup. They waited quietly for the Baron to begin. When he finally spoke his words were short and stilted. “My Wife… Illenya. I took her to Costa Volpino, outside Bergamo, Italy. We hiked Monte Colombina. ” The words came easier the more he spoke. He closes his eyes, tilting his head down, lips twisting in a wry smile. “I detest camping, but Illenya adored it. For her I could adore it too. We spent the night under the stars, sharing good wine and even better conversation.”

“That sounds beautiful.” Sam offered quietly. Bucky wants to agree. He opens his mouth to say so, but snaps it shut. Those complicated feelings are back and he just doesn’t know what to say.

“It was.” The baron throws back his last shot, setting his glass upside down. “I think I am done for the night. Gentlemen.”