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"Is that Samuel?"
Looking up, Bucky still felt a grin stretching out on his lips. In his hand, his phone was vibrating again. And down the hallway, his lover stood smiling back at him, an inquisitive glint in his eyes.
Letting his eyes drop down his body, Bucky noticed that he was dressed, shoes and all, looking every bit the title he held. He couldn't help the little chuckle as he saw the bag in Zemo's hand. He had long since given up trying to ease him into a pair of sweatpants. And if he was honest with himself, he’d never really wanted to in the first place.
No, he'd chosen the European weirdo who got dressed up for grocery shopping. And every day he loved his every little quirk.
"Yeah, it's him." He tried to reign in his amusement, failing miserably. "He wanted to know if I had any luck on that dating app he sent me. If he knew- "
The thought would never fail to humor him. But the chuckle rumbling in his chest died as his eyes wandered back up. His lover's smile hadn't faltered. Not to the untrained eye. But Bucky’s wasn't. Not anymore.
Not when he spent nights studying the man's face, drinking in every detail, marveling at the fact that he was allowed to do so. Not after days upon days, following his every move, every conversation, every glance sharpening his senses, uniquely trained to read the man he called home.
This wasn't right. Something was off. That glint, it was gone, his eyes dull, mocking the rest of his expression. For a moment, Zemo's mask was cracking. Then he straightened himself up, that little hint of something wiped away. Nothing but perfect contentment.
"He simply wants what is best for you, James."
A smile.
"I am going to get a few things for dinner. See you later, my love."
And with that he was out the door.
. . .
His phone was buzzing again. Bucky felt it through the fabric of his jeans, the way it moved a little further down his leg with every notification.
He didn’t pick it up, eyes still fixed on the spot where Zemo had just stood.
He'd fucked up.
The worst part? Zemo wasn't angry. Bucky would've recognized that in an instant. No. Zemo was hurt. And he'd done it.
His sigh reverberated around the room as his eyes dropped down to his lap, Sam's old texts still open for him to read.
Fuck.
Bucky let his body sink back into the couch, the cushions too soft today, smothering him.
He was going to apologize.
The moment Zemo stepped through that door again he'd-
He'd...
He'd do what, exactly?
How was he supposed to salvage this? There was no solution to a problem you didn’t know. He couldn’t apologize if he didn’t know what for. And he couldn’t ask him because deep down Bucky knew he should know. Fuck, he needed to figure this out. Didn’t wanna see him like this. Pretend he hadn’t noticed. But what should he say? And how much time did he have to figure it out?
And why did this even have to happen?
With a frustrated roar, Bucky chucked his phone across the room. It hit the wall, dropping to the ground with a pitiful sound.
. . .
He wasn't sure how much time had passed, spent in self-pity and the tight vice of their couch cushions, when he heard a ring coming from the front door.
His body shot up on instinct, going rigid at the thought of facing that all too familiar face again, carefully crafted into pleasant vacuousness.
Only then did his mind kick in. Zemo had a key.
Another sigh left him. Whoever this was, they better be gone quick. Bucky didn't feel like keeping his face in check.
He heaved himself from the couch, dragging his body through the hall.
The look out the peephole made him regret even getting up today.
Why now? Why here? Why-
"Sam."
. . .
"Hey, Buck."
The man grinned up at him, his usual radiance ringing hollow in Bucky's chest.
"I- uh, I didn't expect you. What are you doing here?"
"What do you mean? I texted you."
Bucky's gaze traveled down the hall to where his phone still hadn't magically repaired itself on the parquet floor.
"Oh. Yeah- uhm."
"Can I come in?"
The man made another step forward, the tip of his shoe already touching the doorstep.
This was a bad idea.
He should say no. Had to. Sam couldn't just waltz in here, it wasn't just his home, it was theirs. Zemo's presence surrounding him even now, flowing into every corner, every nook of the apartment, through every room and every piece in it. Sam couldn't. He just couldn't. He- felt paralyzed, his mind screaming at him to think of something, come up with anything, but thoughts of Zemo still left him frozen, incapable, his mood weighing heavy on his rationality.
"Sure," he plastered a quick smile onto his face. "I can’t think of a reason why not."
The words hadn’t left yet left his mouth in their entirety, as Sam squeezed past him into the apartment. With it, the door fell back into its lock, a trap snapping shut around him. And one look at his friend confirmed it, the blood in his veins turning to ice.
Just out of Sam’s field of vision, their closet gave a splendid view into rows of jackets and shoes, surely costing more than Bucky had ever earned in his prolonged life span. Never would Sam believe that they were his. And if the jackets were there, then that meant-
Bucky’s spine straightened up on its own, rising to his full height as he skidded over a few centimeters. Just a few, stopping in front of the coat rag where he could feel a familiar fur collar tingle the skin at his neck.
It hadn’t even been a minute. He’d already had a close call. Too close. This was destined to fail. There was no way.
He was doomed.
Blissfully oblivious to Bucky’s internal turmoil, Sam left him standing in the hall as he sauntered towards their living room.
"I mean, you’ve been living in your new apartment for what? At least a year now, right? And I haven’t seen any of it yet. You gotta give me a tour."
Passing the bathroom. Good.
"God, we haven’t talked outside of missions in ages, man. You’re making yourself rare these days."
Passing the bedroom. Not giving it a glance. Thank fuck.
"I still need to warn you about Sarah when you c-
Holy…" His voice trailed off and Bucky shut his eyes for a moment. A quick plea to a higher power before he crossed their distance with quick strides.
He found his friend in the middle of their living room, turning, ogling his surroundings. Bucky couldn't blame him. He still found himself doing it sometimes, even though he was living here.
Looking around, Sam’s eyebrows wandered higher up on his face with every new corner of the room he was inspecting.
"Did you win the lottery or some shit and didn’t tell me? Do they pay you more than me?"
Bucky forced out a sound that could hopefully be mistaken for a laugh while his own eyes raced over every surface in the room, looking for anything that didn’t look like it belonged to him.
Ironic.
And painfully futile, he thought, given the fact that the entire room looked straight out of a catalog. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a small golden chain abandoned on their coffee table.
Shit.
Making sure that Sam was still distracted, he moved over to the couch as quietly as possible. Picking it up, he quickly let it disappear in the pocket of his jeans.
"You know," Sam piped up again, "those dating apps I told you to go on, I didn’t think you’d get yourself a sugar daddy.”
Hilarious.
Bucky just hummed, watching him as the other man set about exploring the decor.
"I gotta be honest, I never knew you had so much taste. No offense…" The other man offered him an apologetic smile over his shoulder. "But I mean thinking back to your other apartment, this isn’t just a step up, this is a whole new level."
Letting his hands trail over the spines of Zemo’s books, a laugh suddenly burst out of him.
"God, I just can’t imagine you wandering around a furniture store. That deadly glare while you’re picking out a sofa… Probably scared away all the staff."
With a snort, Sam came to a stop in front of an ornate golden mirror.
Bucky closed his eyes for a second, vividly remembering the moment Zemo had brought the thing home. Remembered how he’d asked him whether he’d mistaken Versailles for an IKEA. Remembered the other just smiling.
Since then it’d been hanging there. Bucky still had no idea where it was from. And Sam? Well, he seemed just as taken aback as Bucky had been that day.
"…You actually picked out all this stuff by yourself?" His friend was looking at him now. "Like, you actually went to a store and picked out furniture? … You?"
Bucky stared back at him.
"I mean I went in there…" he began, slowly, picking every word carefully, "and then looking at all the stuff, it was like someone else just… took over," he concluded, giving him a tight smile.
For one long, torturous second, Sam seemed unconvinced.
Then his face grew softer.
"Wow. I have to be honest, Buck, I’m really impressed. I wish Steve could see you like this."
Oh.
Bucky tried not to let his face slip at the thought of Steve seeing him like this. One of those rich asswipes he and Stevie had made fun of back in the day. Fancy art and fancy wine. Sharing a bed with ‘the enemy’. If it wasn’t such a horrifying thought, he would’ve laughed, trying to imagine his old friend’s face if he’d be the one currently standing in his apartment instead of Sam.
"Uh, yeah," he nodded, "that’d be- " nice. But the word got stuck in his throat as his eyes fell onto one of the sideboards behind Sam. Right there, barely two feet away from his friend, was a frame. A frame with a picture that would render all his efforts, all the hiding of coats and jewelry, of vague answers and white lies, absolutely useless. If Sam saw it… even if just for a second…
"Buck?"
His head snapped around, tearing his eyes away from the picture.
"Huh?"
"You good?"
"Oh, yeah, yeah, I just, uh," Bucky licked his lips, wrecking his brain for something. Anything.
Fuck.
Come on. Come on, come on.
"So," he began casually, as if he hadn’t been staring off into the distance like an idiot just now. "What did you want to tell me about Sarah?
Sam, bless him, kindly took the bait.
Moving away from the sideboard and towards the kitchen, he started talking again. Bucky didn’t hear any of it, his attention focused entirely on the old frame holding his favorite picture, proudly on display for everyone to see.
Well, anyone who had ever entered their apartment. Which, in turn, narrowed it down to two. At least before today.
As soon as Sam disappeared from his sight, Bucky strode across the room, grabbing the frame. The photograph within had been there for a while now. And still, it drew him in, capturing him as he let his thumb trace over Zemo’s face in the picture.
———
"Excuse me?"
Ripping their gaze away from each other, their eyes both wandered over to where the voice had come from, and then down, falling onto an elderly lady. She was wrapped up to the nose in a giant scarf, the beanie on her head was pulled down into her face, leaving only a pair of eyes, framed by hundreds of little lines making them shine with glee.
Despite this initial impression, Bucky felt himself tense. Old people tended not to recognize him. That wasn’t what scared him. No, they always reminded him of familiar mindsets, things that had been hammered into his mind when he was still a child. And he was here, in public, with absolutely no one being able to mistake the man next to him for anything else but what he was. A lover. His.
Zemo seemed to sense it, as he swiftly took over.
"Yes, madame?"
"Oh, you- ," she chuckled, swatting at his arm. "I just saw you two from over there and ah, I know how it is nowadays, with the privacy and all that but I just needed to show you- ," she held out her phone, an old model, Bucky noticed, probably a gift from some grandchild trying to update their granny. Leaning down, Bucky saw that it was a photo. Of him. And Zemo. It couldn’t have been taken longer than a minute ago.
They were standing in a secluded corner of the Christmas Market, mugs of mulled wine warming their hands, their breaths white clouds mingling above their heads. Just like it had been when they had woken up that morning, it was still snowing even now, thick snow flakes covering the ground and everyone who set foot outside. Some of them had gotten stuck in Zemo’s hair, the air around them too cold for them to melt. Bucky wasn’t sure how he managed to look both adorable and absolutely ethereal. Then again, the Baron simply had that effect on him. Reaching out, Bucky carded through his lover’s hair, the snow flakes he caught being immediately replaced with new ones from above.
This was what the old woman had caught on camera, still presenting it to them with pride.
Taking a closer look, Bucky was almost surprised at his own face in the picture. He looked- free. Light. No frown, no furrowed brows, he was laughing, without a care in the world. And Zemo? Bucky’s eyes traveled over to the Baron’s face. Zemo was looking at him. No trace of a mask, no condescending smirk. He was smiling, gazing up at him and Bucky swallowed at the intensity of it. It reminded him of their first date. A date that was never meant to be one. But Zemo had looked at him like that, back then. Like he’d fallen in love, in that very moment. It was like that. And somehow it was still different. Because it wasn’t their first date. Or their tenth. Because Zemo knew him now, intimately, intricately, knowing exactly who he was in love with. It seemed though, looking at the photo, the familiarity didn’t diminish the wonder in the Baron’s eyes.
Bucky tore his own away from the photo, back to his lover beside him. The man had a small smile on his lips.
Ignorant to Bucky’s internal rollercoaster of emotions, the woman pulled her phone away again, looking up at both of them. The creases on her face had deepened even further.
"I hope you don’t mind me taking a picture of you two, but gosh, you just looked so adorable, so hopelessly in love," she sighed, as if reminiscing on a memory Bucky would never see, "I just couldn’t stop myself. Would you like to have it? My grandkid, you see, they’re good with this new tech stuff. Showed me a few tricks."
———
Bucky smiled at the picture in the frame, knew it inside out, every grainy pixel, the degree to which it was tilted, a little wonky, a little blurry from the snow melting into the lens.
He loved it.
Helmut had been so beautiful that day. Everyday.
Proudly on display… Bucky sighed. He wished it was true, wished he could show Sam.
Wished he could show him the look in his lover’s eyes, could tell him that he was happy, that he was home.
Giving it one last lingering look, Bucky turned the frame in his hands, placing it, picture down, back onto the sideboard.
He tried to ignore the ache that the sight left him with.
. . .
"You have a cat."
Walking into the kitchen, Bucky was greeted by Sam whose eyes were glued to the counter where Alpine sat, comfortably cleaning her fur.
"Yup."
Tearing his eyes away from the cat his friend instead leveled him with a bewildered look. Bucky may not be the best at recognizing subtle hints on other people's faces, hell, he could barely control his own, but something about the way Sam stared made him think he was ...happy?
"You’re really settling in, aren’t you?” His voice was weirdly cheerful. “What’s next, a wife and two kids?"
Before Bucky could blurt out however that he and Zemo had not had that talk, Sam went on, his attention quickly caught by Alpine, who, like her dad, was watching Sam intently as he moved around their kitchen. Unlike his dad, her staring was gaining her some pats here and there as Sam's voice kept rising higher and higher as he cuddled her close.
"Hey, Cutie. Aren’t you adorable, hmm?” He crouched down a bit, burying his nose in the cat's fur. “Are you the reason Mr. Grumpy over here is acting like some suburban dad, hmm? Yes, you are, aren’t you? You are. Made him a big softie, didn’t you?"
He chuckled, stroking her behind her ears before his nose gave a little twitch.
"Damn," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the ball of fur in his face, "even your cat smells like your fancy air freshener."
For a second Bucky was confused, then he gulped as Sam's words started seeping in.
The cat smelled of Zemo.
The apartment likely smelled of Zemo...
Did he...?
The thought shot an inappropriate thrill down his spine.
Not the time.
But fuck, the idea almost did him in.
He always did like when the other man was close to him, close enough to wrap his arms around him, to drink him in, to nose at his neck and ruffle through his hair while the other was reading, both of them cuddled up under the same blanket.
He always smelled so familiar. Safe.
Like… home.
Bucky stifled a sigh. Who was he kidding? Since they had started this thing between them, Zemo had always been nothing less than that. An anchor. A place to run to. Somewhere he could just be.
———
Zemo had been gone for three days.
Following a hint. Another unfortunate soul dabbling in the recreation of the Serum.
Bucky almost pitied them for the gruesome destiny that would befall them at the hands of his doll. Almost. But alas, his pity was used up for himself.
Three days. He knew he was being ridiculous. Zemo had been locked up for much longer than that. Then again, at the time he hadn’t yet gotten a glimpse of what he was now missing. A life with the Baron. Waking up beside him and falling asleep back in the same place, his arms wrapped around a soft body, a familiar warmth seeping into his chest as the sounds of gentle, even breathing lulled him to sleep.
Which is why he was lying awake, again. He wasn’t sure when his lover would return. But he knew he would. He always did. His competence both beyond attractive and scarily intimidating at the same time, almost doubling after Zemo had started valuing his life once more, their life, everything they’d built. No, Bucky knew he’d return. Because Zemo had something to return to now. He snuggled deeper into his pillows as the realization settled over him.
He finally believed him. Believed that he was worthy enough, good enough, that he was enough to return to. Zemo told him, sometimes randomly, sometimes seemingly unprompted, but Bucky always knew the Baron had read something on his face. And he told him every time before he left. Gentle words, praises, a shower of reassurance, so thorough Bucky almost drowned in it. And what a way to go down.
Because Zemo’s eyes were always open, honest, his lips uttering no meaningless phrases, empty promises like something out of a brochure. No, Zemo carefully handpicked every word, and he meant every last one.
Next to their bed, Zemo’s night stand shook as a white ball of fur jumped onto it.
"Hey Alpie," he couldn’t help but smile a little. "You’re missing him too, huh?"
She just stared at him, tilting her head a little as if pitying him. It wrung a quiet laugh out of him.
"God, now you even look like him."
He turned over onto his stomach, hiding his face from her inquisitive gaze. He didn’t care what other people thought, cats knew way too much. They just pretended to be dumb sometimes, to throw you off their scent. Speaking of-
Bucky muffled a whine into the soft fabric. As he had rolled over, he’d crossed onto Zemo’s side of the bed. There, his scent was still lingering, woven into every thread of the pillows, blankets, sheets. He wasn’t sure if it made it worse or better. It didn’t seem to matter though, his body had already made a decision.
Abandoning his side altogether, Bucky moved over. His own blanket shielding him from the cold of the room, he bunched up Zemo’s, pulling it close to his chest, throwing his arms around it. The movement Bucky’s muscles had grown so accustomed to, he wondered how he'd ever fallen asleep before. It was a poor substitute, but it created some warmth in his arms, and it smelled just like him. Nuzzling his face into his lover’s pillow, Bucky’s breath slowly started to calm down, the quiet darkness of the room and the fabricated familiarity silencing his mind, hopefully just enough for sleep to finally take him.
. . .
In the middle of the night, the streets quiet and the sky black, careful steps echoed through the staircase. Came to a halt, the rattle of a key, a door being closed again, gently.
Bucky was lost in light and uneven sleep. Alpine however gave up her watchful spot on the nightstand, greeting her Papa at the door. With soundless pats of her paws, followed by soft footfalls, she led him back into the bedroom her two dads shared.
Zemo couldn’t contain the smile that made its way onto his face at the sight that presented itself to him. Who would have thought anyone would ever get to see the former Winter Soldier, recent history’s most deadly and influential assassin, curled up in bed, hugging a blanket so close, Zemo wondered if he’d ever get the wrinkles out. But him, of all people? Not a single day went by where he didn’t come face to face with the absurdity of it all, the utter privilege that he had been granted. Whatever force had driven them together, he was living everyday trying to prove himself worthy of the beautiful man lying in his bed right now, face pressed into his pillow as if it eased the loneliness of an empty bed.
He knew that James missed him whenever he was gone. He told him every time, in his own way. But Zemo had never seen it. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Moving away from the door, Zemo walked around the bed, quietly crouching down in front of James. His face seemed relaxed, but the tight grip on the blanket negated the impression somewhat. Before Zemo could move again, he saw it. A slight movement, a stir in James’ body and then tired, blue eyes were looking straight at him.
"Zee-"
His voice was muffled, rough from sleep and disuse. But still, the utter relief carried in it could have brought him down to his knees if he hadn’t been already.
Zemo smiled, one hand reaching out on instinct, carding through soft, brown locks of hair.
"Hello, James."
That night was the last time Zemo had ever let himself be fooled by appearances. As it turned out, sleepiness did nothing to diminish the force of a Super Soldier. Quicker that his eyes could follow, James reached out, metal gripping the fabric of his shirt, before Zemo was pulled down onto the bed, gracelessly landing in the arms of the man he loved. He couldn’t find it within himself to care. Not when strong arms wrapped around him, his blanket quickly discarded as James buried his face in his neck.
"I’ve missed you, Zee."
He smiled.
"I’ve missed you, too, darling."
———
"God, I keep losing track- ," Sam's voice snapped him out of his memories. "Anyway, to sum it up. She’s been really bummed out lately. If you come visit us on Sunday, just try not to bring it up, yeah?"
"Uh," he nodded, unsure of what the other had said. "Yeah, sure."
"Thanks, man. I’m telling you, this guy… What an asshole. Kinda regret keeping you away from her like that now," the other laughed. "Any chance you’re still- ," he wiggled his eyebrows and Bucky couldn’t help but grin, his internal crisis on the back burner for a second.
As if drawn in by an invisible force, his hand wandered up to his chest to where under his shirt he could feel the outline of two tags dangling from his neck. They felt the same, but it had been a while now since his own name was the one pressed into them. He smiled, tracing the edges of it as subtly as he could. Then he shook his head.
Sam just nodded, raising his hands in surrender.
"Well, I guess I can’t begrudge you for that… You know I just want you to be happy, right? I know I’m pestering you with all those dating apps, and the dates, and- "
Dates...
———
Looking through the peephole, Bucky didn't believe what he was seeing. Couldn't. Not because he was surprised, or well, maybe he was. But he shouldn't be. He'd known what he would see before he'd pressed his face against the door. Fuck, like that, ear against the wood, he could probably hear the other man's heartbeat if he wanted to.
Eyes still on the Baron, Bucky drew in a deep breath. Did the other know he was being watched? Surely, a man like Zemo would keep up the façade just in case. But Bucky was sure that with every second passing by, he saw another minuscule crack in the man's mask.
There was no point to putting this off, it just prolonged the torture for both of them. Taking a step back, Bucky ran a hand through his hair before he could question it and opened the door.
. . .
"Thank you for agreeing to this, James."
Bucky nodded, hoping the Baron would continue. He did not. There was just that stare of his, rivaling Bucky's own in its intensity. But where he tried to intimidate, the other simply seemed to read. And wasn't that so much more effective?
Shifting in his seat, Bucky heard himself continue speaking. Anything to get the man's attention away from his eyes.
"Yeah, uh- ," he drew it out, buying time. "Maybe you were right. With the whole 'processing the way we left things' stuff... maybe."
Zemo took him in, traces of what seemed to be a genuine smile on his lips.
"I'm glad you agree."
. . .
If there was one thing Bucky would never have seen coming that evening, it was the way he caught himself, again and again, with his chin resting on his hand as he got sucked into the Baron's magnetic field, listening, hanging on to every word, the way that his soft, raspy voice drew him in, always long enough that he'd forget what had brought them together, just for a second.
And the way the man effortlessly gave over the spotlight to him. Because it didn't feel like one. Much smaller, closed. Intimate. The air around them like a dome, shutting everyone else out. A full restaurant, and Bucky realized he hadn't checked the last group of people coming in. He didn't know the topic of conversation three tables over, he'd stopped listening an hour ago. He still knew all the escape routes, every door, every window. But were they obstructed by now? Had someone pushed a stroller in front of it? Would people be in the way? He didn't know. And worst of all, he wasn't sure he cared enough to turn around. Or move his eyes just a bit to the right. Anywhere, really, except where they currently lingered.
It shot a thrill through his body when, as the waiter appeared once more to ask about any additional wishes, Zemo seemed befallen by the same problem, barely tearing his eyes away for a moment. The feeling was quickly replaced by a swell of nausea. What the fuck was wrong with him?
That night, a part of him had screamed at him to run. From him, from that feeling in his guts at the wonder and intrigue he saw reflected back at him in the Baron's eyes.
In the end, he hadn't run. Because a bigger part of him had been beckoned closer, the man across the table drawing him in so palpably, Bucky had felt the pull to lean forward, the dome above their heads shrinking down to a little bubble encircling the two of them. That night, Zemo had caught him under his spell and he hasn't let go of him ever since.
. . .
"What?" Bucky frowned as he saw the look on the other man's face. They were standing outside the bar, the Baron had his arms wrapped around himself to ward off the chill of the night.
"Nothing, I just- ," he hesitated, "I find myself unwilling to end this evening."
Zemo's eyes met the sidewalk, traces of a sad smile in the corners of his mouth.
"Then don't,” Bucky spoke before he'd thought it through, driven by the same reluctance he saw in the Baron.
"I- I've lived here my entire life. Well, the conscious parts.... I could show you around. A few secret spots, you know, a little walk, i-if you want."
And as quickly as they'd left him, those honey eyes were back on him.
"Yes, I'd like that."
. . .
It was a little after midnight when they returned. Not to the bar, Bucky noticed only when his steps came to a halt. His apartment. He hadn't even realized that that's where he'd been headed.
The wind had picked up a bit, the city cooling down with no clouds to obstruct the sky. He could see Orion above them, glowing just as brightly as it had in 1943.
"Uhm- ," he turned to the Baron who was looking at him; he always was.
"I live here."
Zemo nodded, knowing. Of course he did, why else would Bucky have stopped here. Stupid.
"I- uh, I know it's late, so you probably have places to be- ," No, he didn't. "-but, I don't know, do you wanna come up for a cup of coffee?"
The man's lips twitched in amusement, one eyebrow raised.
Despite the cold, Bucky's face suddenly felt warm.
"I didn't- I mean, sorry, I forgot. I've been told it's some code nowadays for- ," he cut off. The Baron got the picture without him making a complete idiot of himself.
But Zemo's smirk didn't falter. If anything it grew.
"Oh, so you weren't offering to have your way with me? I'm disappointed, James."
Bucky didn't respond. He wasn't even sure, neither then nor in hindsight, just what had flickered over his face in that moment. How much of his thoughts... Broadcasted before he could cut the connection. No, in that very moment, he'd been sure he'd take them to the grave.
"I'm messing with you, James." The Baron's voice had taken on a softer tone. "I'd love to. Lead the way, if you please."
. . .
"You have a beautiful view of the moon from your window. I'm sure it's a wonderful place to waste restless nights in."
Bucky just looked at him from where he was leaning against his kitchen counter.
"Zemo, I've never once sat in that window."
It couldn't possibly have surprised the man. But the Baron seemed undeterred, simply holding out a hand, pale in the dark room, as the moonlight bathed everything in a milky white.
With a stilted sigh, Bucky pushed away from the counter. Why did it feel like he was walking towards a door he'd never be able to close again?
He eyed the hand offered to him. Zemo made no efforts to take the decision away from him. It just stayed there, still, waiting for an answer.
And who was he kidding? He'd made that decision the moment he'd opened the door for him. And then again when he'd agreed to order another round instead of leaving. And another. And another. And then again when he'd taken him around the city. And then when he'd brought him here. And upstairs. And again. And again.
The space was nowhere suited to fit two grown men, their weight balancing on the small frame, their legs stretched out back into the apartment.
Bucky didn't care. And Zemo didn't seem particularly interested in the stars anymore. Fuck. He didn't dare to tear his eyes away from the night sky, as felt the stare of the other man prickling his skin. This was insanity.
"James..."
He swallowed. He couldn't do this, he couldn't, he-
"I think I should go- "
"No," Bucky's hand shot out to wrap around the Baron's wrist. "Don't. I- I know you don't want to, you just think that I- that..."
That what? That I don't want it?
His eyes dropped down to the other man's lips. He knew he wasn't subtle, wasn't eloquent, but words had left his mind and judging by the others expressions, he understood him perfectly without them.
Leaning forward, Bucky stopped a few inches in front of Zemo's lips. The voices in his head that had been screaming at him the entire evening, a tortured amalgamation of Steve, Sam, his fucking therapist, they went silent as their eyes met again.
"Tell me if I read this wrong and I'll stop, right now."
His voice was low, barely a whisper, but the Baron had heard him. One agonizing second later, he shook his head.
"Please don't stop."
. . .
The clock on his night stand showed 03:54 and the room was quiet. Just a couple of cars driving by, down in the street. Just his own breathing, mingling with the Baron's.
Bucky couldn't sleep. But this particular night, it had nothing to do with his nightmares. Zemo had been right, the moon was beautiful. Its light still shone through the window, reflecting off of the furniture, the sheets, off Zemo's exposed skin, his shoulder and neck peeking out from under the covers.
Bucky should probably turn around, look away, actually try and get some sleep. But his eyes kept wandering over the Baron's sleeping form, vulnerable, peaceful, its unfamiliarity like a drug, keeping him hooked on the sight.
What were they now, to each other?
What was he, this night, to the other man?
Bucky thought back to their kiss in the dark, to Zemo's eyes on him, to their evening and the hours they'd spent in each others' presence, always looking for an excuse to prolong it just a bit longer.
Maybe Zemo was playing a game Bucky had never learned the rules of, an invisible noose wrapping itself around his throat so very slowly he'd never notice he was being strangled until it was too late.
But thinking about everything that had transpired tonight, there was another, more plausible option.
That tonight had changed something between them, was the beginning of something. And at the flutter of his heart, Bucky couldn't deny that he knew which one he was secretly hoping for.
And Zemo?
He let his gaze wander up his arm, his shoulder, the delicate skin at the juncture of his neck up to the illuminated contours of his face, still turned away from him.
Turn around.
Bucky couldn't help the thought, no matter how futile. He just needed to see him again. Not the mask, but the man underneath. The man he'd really, truly seen for the first time today. The first time he'd been allowed in, closer, allowed that look under the surface.
Propping himself up on his elbow, Bucky leaned closer. Like this, he could count the Baron's beauty marks adorning every part of his body, could smell the faint traces of perfume, sweat and sex lingering in the air around them.
Some ancient instinct quicker than his tired mind, Bucky reached out, one finger, two, three, trailing over the man's arm, searching for that feeling of his skin beneath them, his warmth.
And he couldn't help the idea forming in his head, of this moment, again and again, the Baron closer every time. His back to Bucky's chest, his own arm wrapped around the man, knowing his touch was welcomed. Wanted. The thrill of unfamiliarity ebbing away, giving way to the comfort of familiarity. And the knowledge it held, of days, months, moments shared until they weaved together forming something else entirely. A life, a feeling. A future one could see so clearly that there'd be no rush to get there.
In the silence of the night, Bucky heard his own chuckle echoing off the walls, back at him.
He was getting carried away, wasn't he? A silly little fantasy, nothing more. Surely, once morning rolled around, Zemo would-
"...James?"
Bucky's eyes snapped up to where the Baron slowly opened his own to look up at him, his voice heavy with sleep and uncertainty.
"Hey... sorry I woke you up..."
His whisper just loud enough to reach the other man, as he threw him an apologetic smile. He knew damn well how this looked. Unable to keep his hands off of him, watching him sleep. If the other hadn't known just how deeply Bucky had fallen tonight, he did now.
But whatever reaction he might have anticipated, Zemo didn't deliver. Instead, his eyes darted down to Bucky's hand on his arm, before landing back on him.
In them, Bucky saw everything he'd been trying to keep down, everything that had kept him awake. Uncertainty, longing. Hope.
"Is everything alright?"
Is this?
Are we?
Not wanting to overstep, Bucky bit down the urge to kiss the other man. In its stead, he leaned down, leaving a trail of small pecks wherever he could reach, his biceps, his shoulder, stopping just below the ear as the Baron let out a shuddering sigh.
Pulling back just enough to speak, his words were nothing but a whisper in the man's ear.
"Yes. It is."
———
Bucky's eyes slowly refocused as he came back to himself. The present.
To think of the impact that night had had…
An unhurried morning, waking up in tangled sheets as their bodies had sought each other out throughout the night. Lazy kisses and a late breakfast and another full rotation of the clock until their paths diverged again.
And then they crossed once more. Neither of them able to stay away for too long.
I thought maybe-
and
Could we-
and
I'd love to-
and
Stay.
And then months after that night, endless rounds around the clock later and their bodies pressed back into that small frame of the window to the stars, a whispered
I love you.
But then elation had turned into fear and uncertainty and little by little, Bucky had corroded the anchor that kept him calm and afloat through the storm.
Pleased to meet you, I'm James'-
-friend.
and
Not here. People might recognize me.
and
Can you imagine if they found out? I don't even wanna think about it.
Unfortunate circumstances, that's what he'd always told himself. A complicated history. People wouldn't get it. Zemo would.
But Zemo didn't.
He never had. And why would he?
There was no higher power at play, nothing forcing them into hiding, nothing keeping them in the shadows. Nothing but him.
No one but him giving the person he loved more than anything the feeling that he wasn't good enough. And that he never would be. Something that needed to be hidden away, a guilty pleasure to only be indulged in in the privacy of their own home.
Bucky wanted to recoil from the feeling within him but there was nowhere to go, the realization washing over him mercilessly, giving him no choice but to sink into it.
Zemo had stepped back into his life and day after day, kiss by kiss had made him believe that he was worth it. Worth the affection, the trust, worth the glint of something indescribably breathtaking in Zemo's eyes when he was looking at him and the taste of adoration and devotion on his lips when they kissed until the early hours of the morning.
He wanted to love him and do so proudly. He took pride in something Bucky had only seen shame in for so long. But he kept him from doing so, kept his heart in a cage, behind locked doors, only letting it out when it was safe.
But their love had proven to be resilient, persevering in the face of too many reasons against it. There was no need to protect it. And in the end, whose heart was he protecting but his own?
Zemo would never open up that cage against his will, and so he was suffering in silence, slowly wilting away while he was clinging onto to the comfort of a dark hidden corner their love had long since outgrown.
It was time to let go of the shadow he’d grown so familiar with. They had crafted something beautiful in secrecy. It deserved to blossom in the light.
"…which is why I firmly believe one day you’ll- "
"Sam. I need to tell you something."
Some of his desperation must have bled into his voice because Sam didn’t even protest as he was cut off, just looking at him, waiting.
"I- "
Say it. For him. Come on. Say it.
"Sam, there’s someone I’m- “
Seeing.
That was the word. But it was lost in his throat as the telltale sound of keys turning in a lock filled the room. He was home.
. . .
The seconds stretched out eternally, every movement made a sound Bucky had never listened to as intently as he did now. The door handle, the muted steps of boots on parquet floor, the clatter of keys being placed into the bowl on the sideboard where they belonged. Despite the tight ball of dread weighing heavy in his stomach, Bucky smiled.
They had a bowl, just for their keys. And Zemo always placed his shoes in the same spot. And when he came home with bags, Bucky would always wait for him in the doorway to the living room, snatching all of them away and carrying them to the kitchen, while happily ignoring his lover’s protests reminding him that he was ‘no old man yet, James. I was a colonel. I can carry my own groceries‘.
The same voice that called out to him now.
“James, miláčik, I’m home.”
Soft footfalls inched closer, striding down the hall.
“I’m sorry for the way I-
His voice cut off abruptly, his eyes falling onto Sam, still leaning against the kitchen counter. In real time, Bucky could watch Zemo’s thoughts racing, trying to come up with something, anything that could explain his presence. Anything but the truth. But there was nothing.
Zemo, who always had an answer to everything, a clever comment, a way out of every situation, fell silent, his eyes flickering back and forth between him and Sam. And then Bucky saw him give up. His shoulders sagged under something else than the weight of his bags, his eyes met the floor before meeting Bucky’s again.
“I’m so sorry, James,” his voice quieter than Bucky had ever heard it. “I didn’t mean to- ,”
He didn’t finish, but his eyes did it for him. Guilty. Dejected. Full of regret.
Bucky never wanted to see that look ever again. And he was the one who put it there.
Before he knew what he was doing, his legs carried him over to where his lover stood, arms wrapping around him as he pulled him close.
The bags hit the floor. Bucky didn’t care.
He just felt soft strands of hair between his fingers and the comforting weight of Zemo’s head on his chest.
And the freedom of finally rectifying his mistake.
“There’s nothing to apologize for, doll. Not for you. But for me.”
He loosened his grip on the man in his arms, one hand cupping his face as he couldn’t hold back a smile.
“I was gonna tell him when you walked in.”
At that, the other’s eyes widened, disbelieving, before slowly the corners of his mouth twitched up, mirroring his own.
“You were?”
Bucky nodded. “Yeah. And I’m sorry it took me so long, and for not realizing how I made you feel and- and for being an ass. This is not my home, it’s ours. And hiding you is like hiding a part of myself.”
He swallowed. There was so much more to say. So many things he wanted to do. But he was rendered speechless as Zemo’s eyes, glazed over and wide, now crinkled at the corners as his mouth stretched into a full blown smile.
“I really want to kiss you right now, James.”
And like that, like a physical, tangible weight, Bucky could feel the tension lifting off his shoulders.
Letting out a deep breath, he nuzzled closer to the other man, his lips peppering his cheek with kisses.
“Oh yeah?” He chuckled, relief making him light-headed. “Why don’t you?”
He felt more than heard the amused huff Zemo let out against his skin.
“Because Sam is still watching us, darling.”
Oh.
. . .
“Right, uh,” clearing his throat, Bucky took a step back, blushing under the fond gaze Zemo gave him. It was with one last look at that beautiful face, that Bucky found it within himself to turn around.
Around to Sam who still stood, as if rooted to the spot, at the counter, watching them. His face revealed something, just what it was, Bucky couldn’t tell.
Instinctively, he felt his arm around Zemo’s waist pulling the other man closer. Shielding him from whatever was to come.
What came was an incredulous huff. And then-
“All this time? I mean, all this time??
I give you pep talks, I try setting you up with people, you - and that’s the worst of all - you made me consider setting you up with Sarah, just to find out that all this time you- and him- ,” Sam’s eyes shot back at forth between the two of them, “man, you couldn’t have dropped that little piece of information a bit earlier?”
Blinking, Bucky felt the cogs in his mind turning, readjusting to the status quo, so different from what he had prepared himself for.
“You’re… not mad?”
“Hell yeah I am,” Sam shot back, but there was a familiar glint in his eyes. “Lying to my face like that… You didn’t pick out shit in this apartment, did you?”
And with that, Bucky felt the remaining terror seep from his body, leaving him pleasantly light, tethered to the earth only by the arm around his waist.
“Technically,” he began, feeling the smile spreading on his face slowly, unwilling to reign it in, “I didn’t lie. I did say it was like- “
“Like someone else took over,” Sam finished for him, shaking his head while he laughed. “Well played.”
Unable to do anything but grin, Bucky watched as Sam’ eyes traveled over him, their bodies pressed close together, to Zemo, back to him. Suddenly his eyes widened, a look suspiciously similar to that time he’d remembered having left on the oven mid-mission.
“God, I totally forgot something.” He shook his head, pushing away from the counter. “I’m a shitty friend. Come on.”
Looking at his friend’s open arms, Bucky only had a few seconds to extract himself from Zemo’s embrace before being caught in another. Two arms trying their best to squeeze the breath out of him and succeeding shockingly well.
Bucky couldn’t remember the last time they had hugged. He wasn’t usually a hugger. Sam knew that, he was sure. So there were slaps on the arm, or a squeeze of the shoulder, but a hug?
It was rare, yet nevertheless, or maybe exactly because of that, Bucky couldn’t help the pleasant warmth spreading through his body. Wrapping his arms around his friend, he let go of his usual reservations, letting himself enjoy the moment.
Sam knew now. And Sam was fine with it.
No more hiding, no more lying.
The smile on his face grew even larger. Another unusual thing. He could get used to it.
There was just one little thing…
“Uh,” Bucky started, voice a little hoarse. He told himself it was the pressure on his chest. “What’s that one for?”
Sam didn’t seem to mind his little interruption if the chuckle right next to his ear was any indication.
“Coming out. Congrats, my friend. You know what they say, it’s never too late to live your truth.”
“Oh, shut up.”
Bucky rolled his eyes, but he knew his smile could be heard in his voice.
After a while, Sam drew back, a hand on his shoulder remaining still. His eyes were filled with humor but Bucky didn’t miss the genuine pride shining underneath it. There weren’t many people in his life he cared about. Not many that cared about him. Maybe it was part of the reason he’d hidden for so long. Had kept those two parts, those two people in his life apart. Had conjured up a false dichotomy where there was none. Because Sam was still here. And Zemo right next to him, by his side, where he needed him. Wanted him. Had him still.
Unaware of Bucky’s thoughts fluttering around in his mind, a whirlwind of emotion he’d have to process later, Sam’s eyes wandered over to Zemo. Studying him, the moment stretching out between the three of them. Bucky bit down the urge to pull Zemo close again, out of that piercing gaze. He had to trust Sam.
Just a moment later, the man sighed, eyes darting back to Bucky for a moment.
“I really wish you had told me sooner… Now we need another chair for Sunday.”
Smiling, Bucky opened his mouth to reply when his focus was captured by Zemo who seemed to have expected something else entirely.
Mask off, eyes gentle, his doll was looking back at Sam as if the last words uttered by the man had only ever been a dream of his, nothing more.
“Sam, I- ,” he began, unusually lost for words for the second time this day.
As if sensing his predicament, Sam just extended his arm, reaching out. And just as Bucky had, Zemo went willingly, letting himself get wrapped up in his hug.
. . .
Over his shoulder, caught in the arms of their friend, Bucky’s eyes met Zemo's again.
The glint was back. That undeniable look of love Bucky had grown so utterly addicted to. They looked at him like they had done that night in the moonlight. That night he’d missed him so much it had hurt. Like that night in the snow, with eyes for no one but him.
And as a secret smile spread on those familiar lips and they mouthed a little Thank you just for him, Bucky knew the shadows would never get him back.