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«I am not someone you love, James.»
«Neither am I,» he persisted. Zemo flattened his palm on James’ chest, the pressure stopping him even though they both knew how easily he could circumvent it.
«Yes, you are.» Zemo let his hand drop, his gaze hard and unrelenting. He sounded almost wistful. «Don’t insult them by denying it.»
James clenched his fists at his sides as the permanent frown on his face deepened further still. «And do I deserve it?»
A smile pulled at Zemo’s lips, and he tilted his head just so. «Whether or not you deserve it is irrelevant. What matters is that they are ready to give it to you.» He sighed, turning away to look out the foggy windows. «I am a dead man with uncountable sins, James, and I regret very few of them. You cannot love a guilty ghost.»
This time, James really did blow past Zemo’s attempts to keep him at arms length. Two strong hands locked around Zemo’s biceps, pushing him backwards with an unnatural strength until his back hit the wall. «You’re wrong,» he said, as Zemo’s widened eyes locked on his stormy expression. «Because I do. I don’t know why, or how, but I do.» His eyes were electric. «And you don’t get to leave me to figure it out alone.»
Zemo swallowed, keenly aware of how James abruptly seemed to have gained a towering height. «I am terminal,» he said, almost softly. «There is only one way this can end, and I will not fight it.»
Zemo was so tired of fighting. It was all he’d ever done. Signing his life away all those years ago should have seen him dead in Siberia, but he wasn’t to attain that. He had more to do, apparently. But now, there wasn’t a point to him anymore. He had been granted a freedom he didn’t ask for and that he couldn’t utilize. He didn’t want to be here.
It should have been him beneath the rubble. The world would be infinitely better off.
Suddenly, James’ hand was cupping the back of his head, shaking him like he was trying to jostle him back to life. «Did you hear a word I said?» James snapped, his nostrils flaring and his mouth curling with anger. «If you don’t fight, then I will.»
«I don’t want you to.» Zemo thrashed against his restraints, testing how far James was willing to take this, and found himself shoved back with a metal forearm across his chest. He hit the wall hard enough that his fringe fell from its styled place into his eyes.
He was unarmed, weak from a barely broken fever that had left him all but bedridden for 5 days, with James fussing the entire time. And to top it off, he was trapped beneath the strength of someone half-way to godhood. To say he was helpless would be an understatement worthy of mockery. And yet, whispered a little voice in the back of his mind, Is that really disgust your heart is racing with?
Zemo’s lip gave the faintest of trembles as a sinking feeling slowly submerged him.
«Tough shit,» James retorted, his body closer now as he guided Zemo’s head, forcing him to look. His breathing was irregular, quicker than what made sense, and his eyes were boring into Zemo like he could pry his desired answers out by force. «You can find new things to live for. Everyone can.»
Anger sparked like electricity at Zemo’s fingertips. «I dug my will to live out of the ruins of their home,» he snapped, cold and brittle.
«I’m not asking you to replace them,» James said, his voice softened in a way that made Zemo itch for a pistol. Which of them he would aim it at, he didn’t know. «I’m asking you not to give up.»
«I have nothing to give and nothing to say. There is no value in my continued existence. Be it here or in death, the result is the same.» Zemo pulled forward, his pulse quickening as he got closer to James’ face. «I’d rather not be bored,» he said, anger prickling hot in his cheeks.
«You are so–» James threw his head back and let out a harsh exhale, his grip on Zemo slackening as he presumably counted to ten, or whatever one did when in a battle against a stubborn sick-patient.
The oppertunity was not one Zemo was keen on wasting. He waited for another moment, and then, quick as a snake, struck James in the throat with the side of his hand. Forcefully. It hardly hurt him, but the reflexive jerk to clasp his throat as he coughed was all Zemo needed. He ducked under James’ arms, and ran.
Stumbling into the apartment buildings hallway, Zemo immediately discounted the elevator, and a fraction of a second later, he dismissed the stairs going down. It wasn’t like he could outrun James, he needed to be smarter than that.
So he bolted for the emergency staircase which lead up to the rooftop, slapping the down button on the elevator as he passed it by. He slipped through the door, closing it softly but quickly, and flipped the lock. It would earn him an extra 10 seconds at most, which could prove invaluable.
He took the stairs two at a time, landing on his toes with each footfall to ensure as little noise as possible. He reached the second landing, ignoring the dizzyness tugging at his focus, and set up the last staircase. James had more than likely recovered by now, and seemed to have at least been stalled by the elevator distraction.
It would not last. Zemo reached the door to the roof just as the downstairs handle rattled. A swoop of adreneline had Zemo’s breath stuttering as he fled outside. A brief scan revealed loose bricks and planks lying in a haphazard pile nearby. He made quick work of propping them against the door, jamming the handle in place.
He had just stepped back when a tremendous force collided with the door, shaking it from top to bottom. Zemo stumbled back, a shock of fear squeezing his throat. He was being hunted, now.
And he could hardly make himself easy prey, now could he?
The fire-escape was rusty and broken in several places. Zemo wrinkled his nose as the bare skin of his hands made contact with it, but he really could not be picky. That door obstacle had another few hits at the very most.
Or perhaps just one. Zemo’s had just reached the second landing before a loud crash signalled the arrival of an irate White Wolf. He forced himself to keep moving, wincing as he swung past an entire level courtesy of a missing ladder.
«Zemo!» James’ voice sent a jolt of adreneline down his spine, prompting him to move faster, jump further. His right knee took a beating after another precarious landing, and the whole structure shuddered under his weight. He severely doubted it could hold two.
«Where the fuck are you?» Came a other shouted demand, edged sharply with desperation. Zemo rushed down another floor, fighting past the wheeze steadily working its way into his breathing. Curse his crippled immune-system post prison. He only had two more to go before he’d have to make a worrisome jump down to the ground.
Nothing he hadn’t done before. And it wasn’t like James’ tattered hoodie would be a great loss to the world. He frowned at the prickle of regret that followed the thought.
He felt it the second James laid eyes on him.Some sort of primal sixth sense altering the rabbit to his pursuer.
«I wouldn’t get on if I were you,» he called, not bothering with raising his voice too loud. James would hear. «If you want me alive, that is.»
Last level.
«You wont make that jump, you idiot!» James yelled down at him, and when Zemo glanced up, he was pleased to see him clutching the roof's edge hard enough to crack the concrete.
«We will see,» Zemo said, feigning total confidence in what was inevitably a fools errand. It was a 15 feet drop, at the very least. Still, he approached the edge with absolutely no intent of slowing down.
«God fucking–» Zemo looked up just in time to see James violently shove away from the edge, presumably to sprint down the internal stairs. A slow smile crept onto his face. Even a super soldier wouldn’t be fast enough.
He didn’t stop to hesitate at the edge. He got down, swung over the edge until he was dangling from the tips of his fingers, and let go. The air whistled past his ears as the ground drew nearer. Muscle memory kicked in then, and moments from impact, Zemo’s body started the chain reaction of landing, rolling, and dispersing.
The momentum brought him several feet down the alley, and he used it to spring back to his feet. Covered in dust and grime and with a foreboding ache in his right ankle, Zemo started to run.
And it was a good thing he did, because not a moment later, the sound of a heavy impact with the ground told Zemo that James hadn’t gone back inside at all. He had jumped. Of course he had.
Without risking a look over his shoulder, Zemo burst onto the crowded streets fast enough that he nearly went skidding sideways, bumping into a man that threw a string of curses at him. Zemo didn’t stay to listen.
The sound of an identical commotion to his own had Zemo picking up the pace. Evasive tactics would be useless, James was too close and too honed in. No,he needed a get-away, he needed–
A hideous yellow car pulled up to the curb just a few feet ahead, with a middle-aged gentleman opening the door. Zemo took his chance. He rushed over, ducked beneath the man’s arm, and slipped into the seat quickly enough that the only thing facing him when he slammed the door was a blank stare.
«Drive,» Zemo ordered, making eyecontact with the driver. Perhaps it was his tone, or his harried appearance; either way, the man floored it.
He took a moment to catch his breath, massaging the area above his heart like he could physically calm it. Looking out the window, he saw the steadily disappearing silhouette of James, getting intercepted by the chaos of the city. A man like him could have easily thrown them all aside and overtaken the taxi. The winter soldier would have, without a shadow of a doubt.
But James was different. He held back. Refused to risk anyone else in the pursuit of his own agenda.
He looked straight ahead again with a weary sigh. Where he was going, he had no idea. New York was not his usual turf. But it was big enough to get infinitely lost in, and that was what mattered.
Zemo was on the other end of a steadily shortening chain to hell. He would not let James be dragged down too out of some foolish insistence that he loved him. If that meant breaking his release terms and disappearing, then so be it.
An hour went by before Zemo finally signalled for the driver to stop. «I apologize for my abrupt entrance,» he said, handing over the entirety of the cash he had left over from his previous dealings. It covered the fare, that much was certain. «No harm will come to you because of it.»
«Thank you,» the man said, his white eyebrows raised in disbelief as he accepted the offered payment. Zemo smiled, and left without another word. While he doubted they had actually gotten very far, these surroundings were entirely unfamiliar to him nonetheless. And more well-to-do, apparently. He was attracting looks.
He wrinkled his nose at the state of himself, but there was little to be done about that now. If he wanted access to his real funds, he’d have to risk an ATM. Considering who was hunting him, that was not yet wise. He needed more distance before he could stand still for so long in front of a camera.
Besides, he had other means. He bumped into a badly dressed businessman, and a block later he had a similar accident with a woman who had sneered at a mother comforting her crying toddler. It earned him enough to purchase a hideously plain jacket to throw over James’ hoodie, a pair of god-awful sweatpants in a darker shade than his borrowed ones, and a black cap to pull low over his eyes.
And then, Zemo began to wander. Hunger was beyond him, still on the edge of sickness, and he found himself entirely too restless to find somewhere to sit still. And besides, a moving target was much harder to catch. He kept an eagle-eyed view on his surroundings, for any hint of that broad, startling figure. For all that James wished to be subtle, he had a way of cleaving through crowds by simply existing within them.
It was some hours later when Zemo eventually had to admit defeat against his still recovering body. The sun was much lower in the sky, painting the skyline - that he could hardly see through the mess of buildings - a soft orange. The autumn air was crisp, and he huddled in on himself, for just a moment.
His eyes were drawn to a café across the street. It was small enough that their security systems were unlikely to be prioritized by surveillance agencies. It looked warm, and the crowd within was relaxed and content. Zemo could take refuge there for a little while.
And yet, he did not move. Even as his fingers stung with cold, even as his feet were numb in his shoes, he remained where he was.
There was no place for a man like him in a scene like that. He would only ever corrupt it, drain it of all its warmth until there was nothing left anymore. And after it was all said and done, Zemo would still be freezing.
He forced himself to keep walking, though he wasn’t truly seeing where he was headed. So long as one foot went in front of the other.
Confusion and a frustrating, crushing loneliness was tearing him apart inside. He had always understood his place in the world. There had never been a moment where he had doubted it, and if he found himself lost, there were contingency plans in place to ensure he was never without a strict purpose.
Now, he had nothing. Pardoned and dropped back into the bowel of the beast without further ado, his only instruction being to follow the stipulations of his release and keep from doing anything illegal. It was ridiculous. It was beyond nonsensical, and Zemo didn’t know what to do.
He didn’t understand this feeling.This free-fall. It hurt .
And why would James, of all people, insist that he loved him? Zemo clenched his jaw, a harsh breath escaping his nose. It was lunacy. It was unfair, it–
A startled noise was shocked out of him when he collided with a man that had seemingly appeared out of thin air. Zemo snapped his eyes up, already backing away, and honed in on the familiar, though slightly altered, suit of one demoted Captain America.
«The bastard soldier.» His smile was slow, patronizing. In the weeks since his release, he had half expected John Walker to shoot him dead with a sniper rifle any time he passed by a window. «What took you so long?»
Zemo might not be overly friendly with Sam Wilson, but if anyone were to carry the – in his opinion rather graceless – title and its intended ideals, there really wasn’t a clearer fit. Sam had the intelligence to reshape it, in any case. This brute most certainly did not.
«I knew you’d break off from your guard dog eventually,» Walker said, his looming figure obscured by shadow as rays of late afternoon sunlight shone from behind him. «You just can’t help yourself. Running back to your old ways the first chance you get.»
«Yes, well,» Zemo put his hands up in mock surrender as his brain rocketed a million miles an hour attempting to narrow down the best possible way out of this. Stupid or not, Walker was enhanced. And he did not look so keen to hold back. «I haven’t broken any laws. As a free man, I believe I have the privilege of sightseeing.»
He silently thanked himself for having thrown away the wallets he stole. Even if Walker knew of them, he couldn’t prove it. «I must say, however, that stalking is a crime. Even if you happen to dislike me.»
Zemo had really outdone himself now. The rabbit had taken his focus off the hunt, grown complacent, only to learn of a second hunter by the feel of foreign teeth in his neck.
«How come you get a pardon and I don’t, huh?» Walker took a threatening step forward like Zemo hadn’t spoken at all, rage churning in his eyes.
Zemo raised a brow at him. He had stopped trying to wrap his mind around the insanity of that exact question weeks ago. Leverage, most likely. Forever in debt to a young king. «You will have to speak with the Wakandan King, I’m afraid. I’m sure he knows of you, given your use of his vibranium to enact a public execution.»
Walker’s face contorted with rage. Zemo immediately moved to get back onto the crowded street, but Walker was quicker. He seized him by the throat and lifted him off the ground. Zemo wheezed, clawing uselessly at his captor’s gloved hand as he was hauled deeper into the alley, through a cracked open door into an abandoned building.
How convinient. Zemo let out a breathless laugh, his legs reflexively kicking as the lack of oxygen made spots dance in his vision.
«What’s so funny?» Walker yanked him close, his breath fanning over Zemo’s face while irate blue eyes bored into him.
Zemo’s answering grin was shaky, and quickly interrupted by his eyes starting to roll back into his head, his struggling hands going limp. Even through the impending haze of unconsciousness, Zemo did not miss the flicker of sadism in Walker’s face.
His tailbone and elbows collided agonizingly with the concrete floor when Walker dropped him, but Zemo hardly had time to notice the pain. All that mattered was getting air back into his lungs, his heaving gasps getting stuck in his throat until he coughed violently to release them.
He didn’t get much of a chance. No sooner had his fingers began to tingle back to life, did a boot connect with his sternum and shove him down. Zemo barely had time to tuck his head in to save himself from a concussion.
Walker leaned down, one knee planted on the ground and his boot digging painfully into Zemo’s body from the immense weight of a man so unnaturally muscled. «Are you here to kill me, John?» Zemo managed, his voice tight from strain. «I suppose you’re already– a murderer. What is one more, hm?»
«You would know,» Walker said, low and threatening. It looked like he was trying to make up his mind. Settle on something. It was more chilling than his impotent rage would ever be.
«Indeed.» Zemo let his gaze wander around as much of the space as he could see from this angle. There was nothing of use. Nothing at all. «You must enjoy being down in the moral gutter with me.»
A brutal hand grabbed his hair, yanking hard enough that he cried out. Walker leaned down, his eyes blown wide open and nostrils flaring. «I’m not gonna kill you,» he snarled, spit flying from his mouth and splattering on Zemo’s face. That he did not flinch was a testament of utter determination. «I’m gonna make sure you never forget exactly where you stand.»
Zemo froze, his brows drawing into a frown. Something was beginning to prickle in the back of his head. Fear, he realized. «What?»
Walker smiled at him like he was hopelessly stupid, tilting his head and raising his other hand to stroke his pointer-finger down Zemo’s cheek. He tried to jerk away, but the hand in his hair was unrelenting. «Someone needs to show you what a bitch you really are,» he said, softly, almost kindly.
Terror. That was the only word for the freezing cold snow storm of adreneline roaring through Zemo’s trapped body. In the midst of it all, the only thing that was clear was that there was no escape. He was alone, isolated, and weak. There were no weapons and he had no contingency plans. Nothing. He hadn’t– he hadn’t planned for this.
His swallowed, making a brittle anchor in promising himself that he was not dying here. If he wanted to survive this, his only hope was to accept it. Lock down, and wait. Come nightfall, it would be over. Walker would not see him beg, would not see him cry. It was like any other trial. He just needed to make it through.
Play dead, and maybe the predator will lose interest. What a desolate strategy.
«If you touch me,» he said, his voice calm and steady, one final warning to the man looming above him. «I will kill you.»
Walker simply laughed at him, cruel and delighted like Zemo was a rabbit in a magic show, popping out of the hat right on cue. He would make him regret that.
The hand on his cheek abruptly travelled lower, grabbing at the zipper of his jacket. Zemo’s resolve cracked down the middle and he lashed out, hooking the nails on both hands into Walker’s face with everything he had. Walker cried out in rage, snatching his wrists in a bruising grip and slamming them down on the ground, above his head.
Blood streaked down Walker’s cheeks as his boot dislodged, his position adjusting until he was straddling Zemo’s hips. A feral look overtook his face as he panted, mouth open in disgust. «You think you can put your flithy fucking hands on me and get away with it?»
Zemo thrashed, his knee colliding with Walker’s back and barely jostling the man. With a frantic look around, Zemo spied the broken window at the far end of the room.
He drew in a massive lungful of air, and screamed. The cry of a cornered, frenzied animal split the silence before a powerful hand slapped over his mouth, muffling the sound as Walker swore, looking around with anticipation coiling in his muscles.
Someone must have heard. The street was right there, surely someone must have heard him. But the silence stretched on, and with each ticking second, Zemo’s heart sank further. Walker’s expression relaxed into one of satisfaction as he slowly turned back to Zemo. He leaned down until they were nearly nose to nose, a twisted sort of affection in his voice.
«See?» He said, tearing an involuntary tremble out of Zemo. «No one’s coming. No one cares about you. It’s just us now.»
Tears threatened to build in his eyes, but Zemo refused to let them. He stared back at Walker, hard and unfeeling.
Walker tutted at him, but the pressure lifted from over his mouth, disappearing out of sight. Zemo didn’t understand why until, a few moments later, a flash of metal passed overhead, followed by the feeling of tight handcuffs closing around his wrists. «I didn’t want to have to use these,» Walker explained conversationally, «But you’re probably into this stuff anyway.»
«I do not associate with rapists,» Zemo shot back, more breathless than he’d been expecting. His throat was snared shut like a garrotte was around his neck.
Pain exploded on the left side of his face as an ear-piercing slap snapped his head to the side. Zemo had no time to recover before he was being hoisted up, his head lolling like a ragdoll. Walker seized him by a bruising grip to his chin. «I don’t like that word,» he warned, eyes ablaze.
«Then stop this,» Zemo said, his blurry vision struggling to re-align. «And you won’t become one.»
Zemo suspected it was already too late for that. Men like this never acted just once.
A half-hysterical laugh bubbled up in Walker’s throat. «You think this is rape? You’re a man, and a criminal. Don’t tell me this wasn’t the norm for you in prison.» He dropped Zemo back down, his cuffed wrists digging into the small of his back.
His chest was heaving for air, but it never made it into his body. Sweat was starting to build in Zemo’s hairline as Walker, unhindered, unzipped both his jacket and James’ hoodie, leaving him exposed on the dirty concrete floor. «You are deranged,» he forced out, horrified by the thread of fear steadily pushing into his voice.
Walker noticed too. He smiled, slow and viscious, looking at Zemo like he was the dirt beneath his nails. Not human anymore, not even sentient, just a thing. «Behave, and maybe I’ll go easy on you.»
Gloved fingers brushed down Zemo’s naked waist, and he twisted, contorting his body away from the sensation. «Stop,» he demanded, but the hands came back, harsher now, forcing him back into place.
«Hold still,» Walker growled, heat crawling into his tone and expression. Heat that had Zemo’s heart convulsing in his chest, his eyes widening with the fear that had began as a trickle, and was now turning into a flood.
«No!» He raised his voice, only to be cut off by an iron grip around his neck, squeezing until his mouth dropped open and the only sound he could make was a whistling wheeze.
«Be quiet .» Walker whispered, leaning close enough that Zemo felt his breath ghost over his face. «And I’ll let you breathe. How’s that?»
Every instinct in his body was telling him to fight, to kick and scream and defy, to never give in to the demands of an animal. But Zemo couldn’t– there was no air–
Screwing his watering eyes shut to hide the shame within in them, Zemo nodded his head yes. With a soft cooing sound, like this was all very adorable, Walker let up on the pressure. The grip, however, remained as a lingering warning of what would be taken away should Zemo try anything.
He had barely gotten a breath of air before rough lips crashed against his own, a slimy tongue shoved deep into his mouth with such abruptness that Zemo gagged around it. He tried to yank his head away, groaning in protest and kicking his legs madly, but Walker tightened his hold on his throat. «I have all the power,» he whispered against Zemo’s lips, hot and poisonous. «Remember that.»
«I will flay you alive.» Zemo’s voice shook, hoarse and weak, ruined by the panic seeping into every facet of his being. Walker leaned back just enough to meet his eyes, a smug smile on his spit-slick lips. Zemo was trembling all over, be it from rage or fear, he didn’t know anymore. All he was sure of was this promise. «If you run, I will find you. I will hunt you down like the animal you are.»
The amusement in Walker’s eyes withered into icy contempt. «Animal?» He asked, with an utter blankness Zemo could only describe as soulless. His breath caught, a violent tremor rippling through his body as he scrambled to say something, to apologize, to walk back that misstep.
«I didn’t–» his words morphed into a pained whine as Walker crashed their mouths back together, is teeth ripping at Zemo’s bottom lip until blood dripped onto his tongue. It trickled down his throat, his chest convulsing with coughs he was forbidden from releasing as Walker ravaged his unresponsive mouth.
«The only bitch around here is you,» Walker said, gripping Zemo’s face as he hovered above him. «Criminal scum who couldn’t even fight his own battles. You’re not a real man, you never were, and I’m going to prove it to you.»
He didn’t have time to process those words before another viscious slap cracked over his face, splitting the skin of his cheekbone and sending a thin spatter of blood over the bridge of his nose. With his ears still ringing, Zemo put up a doomed fight as Walker flipped him onto his stomach.
«No,» he wheezed, thrashing against the cuffs, fighting to gain purchase on the rough ground to push himself away. Walker let him get a few feet before stomping down on the small of his back, pinning Zemo down like a harpooned fish.
His heart was hammering so fiercly Zemo felt each beat in his throat, heard it like a deafening drum in his ears. Even faced with certain death, with guns trained on his head or bombs beneath his feet, he had never been consumed by abyssal panic before. Not like this. All of him was shaking, even his thoughts. He couldn’t stay afloat. Not as the inevitability of what was coming kept dragging him under.
«Don’t,» he said, barely above a whisper. Walker leaned down, his body heat fanning over Zemo’s back. «Don’t do this.» The words were tumbling out unbidden, beyond his control. They wouldn’t change a thing, he knew that, but he couldn’t–
«Please.»
Time seemed to slow. Warp. Zemo’s head was filled with a static buzzing as he stared straight ahead, at an old piece of graffiti.
The heavy arms caging his body were like the lid of a coffin slamming shut. Walker leaned down until his lips were brushing Zemo’s ear. «Since you asked so nicely.» Blunt teeth nipped at the sensitive skin, hard enough that blood trickled into his ear-canal.
Zemo was floating further and further away as wandering hands become more aggressive. As clothing was pushed up or shoved down. The cold air bit at his exposed skin, the fading light steadily dimmed the sight of the growing collection of marks, bruises and cuts on his back and shoulders.
He had stopped fighting a long while ago. Keeping his eyes locked firmly on that colorful spot on the wall served as his last tie to his own mind, to his life. If he could just focus on that, the pain splitting him apart over and over again would dull.
Perhaps James would find him, if this ever ended. Perhaps there would be enough left of him to save.
The haze he’d retreated into was ruptured when, suddenly, Zemo’s body was moving. He was lifted off the ground until his back was pressed against Walker’s chest, pinned in place by Walker’s hand. He couldn’t see the graffiti anymore, couldn’t find the strength to lift his head from where it lay limp on Walker’s shoulder.
How long had it been? Everything was foggy, his brain wouldn’t cooperate.
Something was said, right in his ear. Zemo couldn’t make out what it was. He was burning, and it wouldn’t stop. Over and over, unrelenting, uncaring of the carnage it left behind.
He felt it, the moment Walker finished. The man went still, made a long, gruff noise, and sank his teeth into the juncture of Zemo’s neck and shoulder hard enough that he let out a strangled cry, his body reflexively jerking as the pressure continued to build. Walker was going to tear his flesh off of him. He was going to rip him apart with his teeth alone, leave him in pieces for the ravens to find.
For James to find.
«I knew you were into it,» Walker said, his voice rough. Zemo hadn’t realized he had let go, the searing pain in his shoulder stealing all his focus. He gasped as Walker crudely pushed himself out and up, leaving Zemo to crumple onto his back, his head knocking into the ground as he fell.
«Look at you.» The sound of a zipper accompanied Walker’s voice before he crouched down. He stroked his gloved thumb over Zemo’s cut cheek-bone, and the leather came away glistening. «Crying. A little dramatic, don’t you think?»
Zemo couldn’t think anymore. He was hollowed out, empty. Nothing was left except the heavy buzzing in his brain. A swarm of flies over a rotting, violated corpse.
Walker wasn’t discouraged by the lack of a reply. «No one came to save you, even when you squealed.» He said it like it was paternal, and something in Zemo died all over again. «Just like no one’s gonna believe a word you say. So don’t make a fuss, hm?» Walker smiled, stroking Zemo’s forehead and smoothing his hair back. «Who’s gonna listen to a liar like you? Bucky? Where is he, anyway?» He made a show of looking around with a puzzled frown on his face, before returning his attention to Zemo.
Tears built in Zemo’s eyes again, and he let them tumble down his temples and sink into his hairline. Nothing mattered anymore. «That’s right,» Walker soothed, before shifting into a kneeling position so he could lean down to snatch Zemo into another bruising, bloody kiss. He broke away with a wet smack, a string of red-stained saliva hanging between them. «He isn’t coming. He doesn’t care about you. Why would he, after what you did?»
«Stop,» Zemo whispered, broken and trembling and unrecognizable.
«Make me.» Walker winked, giving Zemo a few hard taps on the cheek in mockery of a familiar gesture. He stood, and Zemo tracked the movement with glassy eyes, watched as he adjusted his gloves and sneered at the crimson stains on his lap. «Got me all fucking dirty,» he muttered, levelling Zemo with a final disdainful glare before turning on his heel and marching for the door.
A panicked, twisted part of Zemo was terrified to see him go. He didn’t want to be abandoned here alone again, he wanted him– someone– to stay.
But he always made that quite impossible, didn’t he?
It was long after the door had slammed shut and the oppressive silence piled ontop of him when Zemo finally moved. He was starting to realize he was cold. With numb, trembling fingers, he zipped up his torn sweater and stained jacket. Then he skimmed lower, finally finding the waistband of his pants near his knees. Pulling them up was excruciating, he thought, absently.
He needed to find a phone. If he found a phone, he could call for assistance. Human bites were dangerous, he could go septic. He just needed to get up and find a phone, and everything would go back to how it was.
Heaving his tarnished body off the ground drew a sob out of him. Pain lanced from his lower back, and each flex of muscle aggravated the trophy-trail left behind on his skin. Once both unsteady feet were underneath him, he had to fight against his rolling stomach, bent at the waist and breathing through his nose.
It put him face to face with the blood spatter littering the concrete. How was there so much of it? Blood and–
Zemo blinked harshly, his brain spinning with foggy memories that were harder and harder to grasp. How long had he been here? How many times had Walker finished? Had Zemo…?
He barely had time to turn his head before he was retching up nothing but the bile in his stomach. The acidity set the cuts in his lip on fire, and he spat, trying in vain to get rid of it. Stumbling away from the scene, he frantically reminded himself of his mission. He needed to find a phone. A phone. Nothing else mattered. He had to find a phone.
The cold air struck him in the face, and Zemo startled, blanking entirely on when and how he got outside. He wasn’t in the alley by the abandoned building anymore, he was on the populated streets of New York. He looked around for a landmark, but he couldn’t focus. His mind was muddled, underwater. Beyond him.
Zemo kept walking. His hood up and head low. People gave him a wide berth, like they could smell the filth on him. Like they could see through his clothes and piece together exactly what he had let happen.
He’d been so stupid. If he had just listened to James, this wouldn’t have– Perhaps if he was a better man, Walker wouldn’t have felt the need to–
He faltered mid-step, startling the woman behind him as she bumped into his back. Agony lit up immediately and before he could discern why, he was crumpling forward, eyes wide and waiting . The woman just gave him a bewildered look, hurrying past him with her phone already pressed to her ear.
Phone. Zemo blinked, straightening out slowly. He had to find a phone.
To his left, there was a run-down restaurant. Greek, perhaps. The man behind the counter looked like he wouldn’t be much phased by a person in Zemo’s current state. Would assume him a brawler, or perhaps an addict. He schooled his expression, and made his way inside.
«Hello,» he said, as soon as the door closed behind him. The man simply raised an eyebrow, giving him a quick and assessing once-over. Zemo had no idea what he looked like, but it could not be good. «I was–» he came to a jarring stop, his brain spinning again. After clearing his throat he forced himself to continue. «I was mugged. Do you have a phone I could borrow?»
The man squinted at him for a moment, a question clearly lingering behind his expression, but in the end he held his tongue. Zemo quietly thanked him for it. «Sure,» he said, his voice deep and gravelly. He placed an ancient looking home-phone on the counter and gestured for Zemo to do as he pleased.
«Thank you,» he managed, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile. He knew he should, but nothing would cooperate. The black plastic barely registered in his hands as he picked it up, dialing the only number he could think of.
Besides James. Zemo didn’t want him to see him like this. Defiled and used. Everything about him was disgusting, crawling with maggots and disease.
«Who’s this?» Sam’s voice came over the line, wind making the speakers crackle. He was on a mission currently, and Zemo could only hope he wasn’t in the air.
«Hello, Samuel,» he said, quietly.
«What the hell? Zemo? Where are–» he paused, and when he spoke again, cautious alarm was evident in his tone. «Are you alright? You don’t sound so good.»
«I need you to look up a phone number for me, and I need you to refrain from mentioning this to James.» Zemo glanced at the cashier, who was barely visible through the swinging doors that lead into the kitchen. He was placing a lot of trust in a battered stranger.
«Zemo, what’s going on?» Sam’s voice was laced with worry now, and it made Zemo’s eyes slide shut in frustration. There was nothing to talk about.
«I am not discussing this over the phone.» Or anywhere. «Find me the number for the nearest–» he faltered again, squeezing his eyes shut as his hand gave a violent tremor. «The nearest assault crisis center to James’ apartment.»
It was his only landmark. He had no idea where he was, and asking was an admission of that weakness.
The pause on the other line was lengthy and heavy. The wind noise had disappeared, and the puttering from the restaurant wasn’t enough to distract Zemo from the abyssal hole of shame opening beneath his feet. «Zemo…» Sam sounded scared.
«The number, Samuel.» The warning in Zemo’s voice was crystalline.
«I’m on it.» Sam was resigned, the knowing grief in his tone stabbing through Zemo’s gut, cutting up what little remained of his ruined defenses. It was like the people on the street, the woman with the phone. They all saw a glowing red sign pointing down at him, telling them exactly what he had become.
Sam didn’t take long. He relayed the number. Zemo scribbled it onto a napkin with a pen that barely worked.
«Thank you,» he said numbly, meaning to hang up, but unable to let the phone go. He didn’t want Sam’s voice, irritating though it may be, to go away.
«Don’t mention it.» Sam sounded equally reluctant, somehow. It didn’t make any sense, they didn’t like each other. «Listen, man, whatever happened to you, I don’t think you should go through it alone.»
«I called you, did I not?» He stared sightlessly at the far wall.
«And I’m glad you did.» Zemo closed his eyes, willing the emotion building in his throat to go away. If he started crying now, he would never stop. «But I can’t get to New York until morning. You should call Bucky, he’s worried about you.»
«Finish your mission,» Zemo dismissed automatically. Calling had already been a mistake. «James will not– he and I aren’t…» he trailed off uselessly, the words jumbling together into an unintelligible mess. «Do not tell him,» he finally gritted out, hatred curling in his gut at how his voice shook.
«I’m not gonna say anything.» Sam’s assurance cooled the burn, just a fraction. «But I am coming to you, alright? And I need to let him know you’re okay. You know how he is, he’s probably ripping his hair out right now.»
A smile ghosted Zemo’s expression, even as dizziness made him sway, his hand shooting out to grab the counter. «And grinding his teeth flat.»
He supposed it was preferable for James to have reassurance, if it kept him from tearing the city apart in search of him. If he was searching for him at all. He hadn’t been there, when Walker–
Zemo bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the rolling wave of nausea that slammed into him.
A barely-there chuckle sounded over the line from Sam, who was unaware of Zemo’s slipping grip on his sanity. «Get yourself to the center. I’ll be there, I promise.»
«Thank you,» he said, faint and distant. Sam’s voice hummed in his ear for another moment, but the words didn’t register. A second later, the line went dead. Numb fingers and a hollow mind brought him through the automatic action of dialing the provided number. There was a conversation wherein Zemo was vaguely aware of a kindly nurse telling him to come whenever he was ready.
He doubted he’d ever be ready , but he needed medical attention. The bite on his shoulder was thumping with pain in tandem with his pulse. A regular hospital meant dealing with people less likely to connect the dots themselves. Zemo refused to explain. He couldn’t.
The phone clattered a little too harshly onto the counter. Zemo blinked at it. The door to the kitchen swung open a moment later, like the noise had summoned the man who had offered it. «Where to?» he said, his large, dark beard obscuring his already unreadable expression further still.
«Pardon?»
The man didn’t break his stare. «I will drive you.»
Zemo frowned. «I don’t know you.»
The man nodded in confirmation. «You don’t. But you need help. Taxi is no-go.»
He opened his mouth to protest, to tell the man a firm no and be on his way - walk, because he doubted he could sit down at the moment - but it all died in his throat. It was moronic to put himself in another vulnerable position with a man, but Zemo knew the statistics. If the universe really was so cruel as to butcher him a second time that night, then so be it. He didn’t care anymore.
With a blank voice and what was almost a dare in his eyes, Zemo told the man where he needed to go. It earned him a simple nod, expression remaining the same. No judgment, no pity. Just acceptance.
Once the car was parked on the curb outside, Zemo wordlessly bypassed the passenger side door. The man - Zemo had never asked for his name, and he hadn’t offered it - said nothing. He carefully shimmied onto the back seat until he was stretched out on his front. The car was quite wide, and for once, his shorter stature was a benefit.
The car was carefully handled as they wove through the light nighttime traffic. Zemo had no idea what time it was, and the ancient dashboard didn’t offer any clues. He sighed. Asking was inevitable. «What time is it?»
«1 at night,» the man supplied. It made Zemo frown, his heart squeezing in his chest. He had left James’ apartment at 1 in the day. He couldn’t have been in the alley any later than 4. So where had those 8 hours gone?
A horrible thought dawned on him. Zemo’s eyes were pinned wide open, staring at the car door in front of him. «And the date?»
A brief pause. Zemo felt that he was being carefully watched. «October 17th.»
The buzzing grew deafening as his mind floated up and away from his body. He was dimly aware that his hands were cold and tingling, that it felt like the car seats were rocking back and forth like a rowboat in a stormy ocean.
Zemo had left the apartment on October 15th.
«Thank you,» he heard himself say, somewhere far away. Nothing about his condition indicated over 48 hours worth of dehydration. Walker must have brought him water over the span of– of the days.
Days. Zemo hadn’t even fought back. Hadn’t tried to get up and run. Why? If Walker had left through-out, why had he stayed? Had he wanted to stay?
The rocking intensified. His head grew heavier, the flies swarmed tighter until there was nothing but a wall of writhing static.
Had Walker intended to come back tonight? What would he do when he found Zemo gone? Would he– oh god. He screwed his eyes shut, a stuttering breath rushing out of him far too quickly. What if Walker told James?
Zemo didn’t want to be witnessed like this. Not by James. Despite everything he was and had become, he craved James’ respect like a man starved, and now he could never hope to be worthy of it.
Because Walker might be right. Perhaps he really had liked it. Zemo couldn’t explain his staying put any other way. Even the handcuffs were gone, he had no excuses.
The car coming to a stop brought him vaguely back to the present, but the heavy unreality blanketing him didn’t ease. «We are here,» the man said, startling Zemo with his presence. «I can stay with you.»
Zemo groped blindly for the door handle, finding it on his third try. It swung open with a rough push. «No,» he answered, with more bite than this man deserved. «They would only keep you. I have a–» he frowned at what he was about to call Samuel, and further still at the fact that it didn’t feel like a lie. «–A friend coming.»
He pulled himself forward, gingerly maneuvering his legs and gritting his teeth the entire way. Getting his feet on the ground required him to sit, only for a moment, but it was enough that he had to muffle a grating whimper against his sleeve. By the time he was finally standing he was trembling from head to toe, clutching the car door for dear life.
At least he had been offered the dignity to do it himself. The issue now was whether he would make it to the front door. It was as though lying down had roused all the latent pain receptors in his brain. It was everywhere. Zemo couldn’t narrow it down to an exact location if he tried.
«Mister,» said the man. His dark eyes were taking in the state of Zemo, and for the first time that night, a crack of emotion was visible in them, only it wasn’t the pity or disgust that Zemo was expecting. It was recognition. «Please, will you let me help you inside?»
Zemo closed his eyes, letting his forehead thump against the door. He hated that word.
But everything hurt, and he was so exhausted. This night needed to end. «If you’d like.»
They made it into the lobby by Zemo clutching the man’s arm in a vice grip, forcing himself to stay upright despite the wailing protests from his body. The nurse at the front desk perked up, her expression flashing with shock for a split second as her eyes landed on Zemo. She was, however, quick to recover her professionalism. «Are you alright, sir?» she asked, rising from her seat.
«I called earlier,» Zemo said, in lieu of an answer. He let go of his support, and immediately wobbled, his hand slapping onto the desk with too much force as he flailed to catch himself. «About…»
The word wouldn’t come out. He couldn’t say it. The nurse caught on anyway, her eyes flashing with understanding as she hurried around the front desk. «I remember, dear.» And now that Zemo focused on her, he recognized her voice. «I’m so glad you came. It is incredibly brave of you.»
He disagreed with that, but he nodded his head in acknowledgement anyway. The nurse - Alison, if he remembered correctly - offered her arm. He took it, only to flinch away when he left a rusty stain on her pale scrubs. «Apologies,» he stuttered, clutching his hand to his chest like it was dangerous.
«Don’t be silly,» Alison reassured him, her voice warm and kind as she kept her arm out for him to take. «I can wash them just fine.»
Zemo had to look away, pinning his stare on the far wall as he finally got a loose grip around Alison’s bicep. She spoke to the man who had driven Zemo there, clearly in a hurry to get moving. Once she had gotten any relevant information from him - which, really, was nothing - she gently informed Zemo that it was time to go.
As she led him away toward a closed off hallway, Zemo threw a glance over his shoulder. Dark eyes were already watching him, and he acknowledged the look with a small nod.
«Good luck,» the man called, right before the door closed between them.
Numbness spread through Zemo’s body with each step he took. The lights hurt his eyes, the sterile smell of the place made his own rankness stand out like blood in pure snow. For a moment, the chill of Siberia nipped at his fingertips.
Why couldn’t the king have let him die there? None of this would be happening if he was dead. He would be safe.
The nurse led him into an examination room. «Would you like to sit, dear?» she asked, gesturing to the chairs. Zemo shook his head, and she didn’t question it. «A forensic examiner can be in with you right away, but if you’d rather talk first–»
«No.» Zemo trained his eyes on straight ahead. «Send them in.»
Dipping her head in acknowledgement, Alison made a quick, hushed phone call.
The woman who answered was older than Zemo, her silver hair pinned back in a neat hairstyle despite the late hour. «Hello,» she greeted, but didn’t offer a handshake, which Zemo was grateful for. He would not have taken it. «I’m Renee, and I will be conducting your exam. Do you mind me asking your name?»
A reply was on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated short of voicing it. He didn’t want to be Helmut Zemo anymore.
«James,» he said, quietly.
Renee offered a smile. «Nice to meet you, James. You’re in capable hands, I assure you.»
He didn’t reply, but then again, it didn’t appear that she was expecting one. Talking hurt, made the weight in his head triple with each syllable.
Renee placed a large, square bag on the bed in the middle of the room, and Zemo tracked her, followed her pale blue eyes as she took mental note of what injuries she could see. They were similar to James’ eyes. Same shape, same shade. «It would be good if you could change into a gown. Does that sound agreeable?» she asked, opening her bag and slipping a pair of gloves on. Zemo nodded numbly.
She said other things, comforting things, but it hardly registered. What he did catch was the question of whether he wanted Alison to leave, to which he shook his head. The other, was that if he wanted to stop, he need only say the word. No questions asked.
Zemo told himself to believe them, though it hardly worked. Behind the privacy of a drawn curtain, he slowly peeled off his filthy, ruined clothing, shoving them mechanically into the evidence bags he’d been given. He didn’t look at himself.
The examination was a violation all anew, to Zemo’s broken brain. His eyes were glassy and unseeing, his body pliant and numb, as Renee collected DNA samples, took pictures of his back, face, shoulder, and wrists. Renee had him lie down on the bed. Zemo died and died and died in that bed.
At one point, Alison had taken to clutching his hand. It dimly occurred to him that he was the one who reached for her.
«James,» Renee said, appearing abruptly in his line of sight. He blinked up at her, realizing his legs were down and covered by a blanket. She tried for a smile, but something about it looked haunted. «I have to recommend you go to the hospital. You need follow-up care we can’t provide here.»
Zemo swallowed, his throat parched and sticky. «Can it wait until morning?»
Renee shared a hesitant look with Alison, but the nurse made sure to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. «We’ll get you pain relief, dear, so you can sleep. We can figure out the rest once you’re feeling a little better.»
Renee nodded, though with a slight frown on her face. «Do you have anyone we can call for you? A friend, a partner?»
«A friend.» The word still tasted odd in his mouth. «Samuel Wilson.» He listed off the number, watching quietly as Renee dialed, and excused herself.
«You did well,» Alison said, drawing his waning attention toward her. She had a subtle hint of tears on her lower lash line that shone like crystals in the harsh light. «It’s all over now. Renee will be back in a flash, and then we’ll get you clean and comfortable. I’m on duty all night, just press the big, ominous button and I’ll come running.»
She gestured to a shock of bright red in a sea of sterile grays. Zemo found himself quirking an eyebrow. «It does look rather like a detonator.»
«See? I’ve been trying to say this for years,» Alison’s smile was watery and a little strained, but the relief in her voice at whatever it was Zemo had just done was palpable.
The door swung open again and Zemo startled, his heart leaping into his throat. Renee held her hands up, inching into the room and keeping her heel in the doorway, stopping it from closing. «My apologies, James,» she said. Zemo swallowed thickly, but nodded at her.
And stopped squeezing the circulation out of Alison’s poor fingers.
«Mr. Wilson was relieved to hear you’re with us.» Renee folded her hands in front of herself, a stack of papers tucked underneath one arm. «He will be here in about 9 hours, and he’ll accompany you to the hospital, if you want that.»
Zemo nodded again. Alison smiled at him like he had just won a nobel prize – presumably not the peace one. «There will be some paperwork before you leave,» Renee went on. «In regards to filing a police report.» Something dark flickered in her expression, but it was gone in the blink of an eye.
Police report. His vision went foggy as it slipped out of focus. Walker’s DNA wouldn’t be in any accessible database, not after his benefactor stepped in. Nothing would match. And if Zemo accused him, he would simply deny it. No one would believe a man like him over Walker, disgraced though he may be. Especially if Zemo had eventually been… willing.
When the silence stretched on, Renee gave a reassuring smile «I apologize, James. You must be exhausted. We can discuss this in the morning.» She looked to Alison, who gave a subtle nod. That must have told her whatever it was she wanted to know. «I’ll be off, then. Sleep well.»
Taking a shower, as it turned out, was a miserable process. Alison had offered assistance, but he had drawn the line. Whatever shreds of dignity he had left forbade it. They compromised by her sitting outside the cracked open door. She wasn’t allowed to shut it, she said. Protocol.
Zemo understood that language well enough. They didn’t want him killing himself in their bathroom.
He stripped off the gown and dropped it carelessly on the floor. It was crawling with whatever filth he’d collected these past two days.
He hadn’t eaten in so long that standing upright was quickly becoming a task too burdensome. Stepping under the warm spray, Zemo braced his forearm on the wall, leaning his forehead against it as the water cascaded over his aching body. He watched it run down the drain a dark, polluted color.
As he scrubbed soap into his hair and scalp, little pieces of debris kept tumbling onto the floor. Pebbles, dirt, scabs. Zemo’s fingers skirted over a tacky, matted chunk, making his breath catch violently in his throat.
Getting soap onto his body was a different story. His chest was relatively unscathed. Superficial scrapes from the rough floor, bruises and–
Hickeys. Everywhere. Zemo was getting dizzy, the floor was rocking beneath him.
It was very quickly made apparent that the most he could do for his back was to stand passively under the spray until he couldn’t take the agony anymore. The rest of his body was washed as quickly as he dared do it. He did not look, he did not linger. Everything hurt, there was dried blood and– and semen all over his legs. All of it disappeared down the drain, but Zemo didn’t feel any cleaner for it. He doubted he’d ever know that feeling again.
His shoulder, he didn’t dare touch. He screwed his eyes shut as he moved to let the water run over it.
Drying off was almost more trouble than it was worth, but he made a half-hearted effort. He ruffled the stiff fabric through his hair, and as the towel fell away, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
He was unrecognizable. A death-like pallor and sunken gray eyebags, accompanied by raw skin on both his cheeks. The cut on his left very nearly skirted his eye. His bottom lip was torn to shreds, and pushing his tongue against the inside of it didn’t yield better results.
A shock of red drew his eyes lower. To the junction between his neck and shoulder. Zemo stood very, very still as he stared at the monstrous bite mark that ripped through his skin, into the muscle underneath.
No ordinary human could do such a thing. Zemo looked back up again, meeting his own gaze in the mirror. The man within it looked defeated. He looked dead.
But he was never allowed such mercy, was he? Neither alive nor dead, stuck as a conscious corpse while his body slowly fell apart. Never again to know warmth, to know his own humanity. Just a body to be moved, to be used. Branded.
He turned, his mind processing the world like he was underwater, and looked at his back. There was barely a patch of skin left untouched either by bruising, shallow bites, hickey’s, or–
Zemo stared blankly at what looked like taser burns. The floor tilted at a 45 degree angle beneath him as his world narrowed down to the two-pronged marks scattered across his skin. He couldn’t remember being electrocuted. He couldn’t remember– he…
«James?» Alison’s voice fluttered against his senses, hooking onto him and making him turn away from the mirror in search of her. «Are you okay in there?»
Zemo blinked, his body jerking back into motion. He gingerly put on the new gown, and slipped back out into the room Alison had told him he was staying in for the night. «Fine,» he assured her. It sounded pathetic, even to his own ears.
Alison believed him anyway, and accepted his answer for what it was. «Let’s get you to bed. You look tired, dear.»
Zemo’s heart lurched in his chest, the buzzing plaguing his head reaching a sickening crescendo. «I am,» he whispered, his voice cracking as his fingers gradually slipped off the edge of control. With his head hung low, a quiet sob shook his shoulders. «I am so tired.»
«Oh, angel.» Alison took a step closer. «May I hug you?» she asked, with all the tenderness in the universe captured in her gentle voice.
He nodded almost before he was fully conscious of it, but remained frozen in place. Alison approached slowly, carefully, placing one hand on his upper arm, while the other caressed his still-wet hair. She guided him to lean his forehead against her shoulder, uncaring of how Zemo’s arms dangled limply at his sides.
«There you are,» she murmured, resting her cheek against the crown of his head. Zemo shuddered again, and finally, he couldn’t hold on anymore. With hitching, stuttering breaths, Zemo cried until his eyes were sore, until his head ached and his body was trembling with the effort of holding itself up.
Through it all, Alison stayed exactly where she was. She took on his weight, his torment, and she held it like it was the easiest task in the world. Her hands were delicate against him and her voice was soothing, like Zemo was ever a person deserving of such things. It burned to receive it all.
He had forgotten what it was like to be touched without violence. It scared him, realizing that.
Eventually, Alison was able to help him get settled on the uncomfortable bed, where he was given an IV-drip of fluids and pain killers that were quickly making his already exhausted brain drowsy. He watched in silence as she wrapped his abused wrists in clean bandages, and sat dutifully still as she did the same for his face and–
And the bite. Zemo closed his eyes and forcefully reminded himself to breathe as Alison taped a large bandage over his shoulder. At least he wouldn’t have to see it again.
When he was finally allowed to lie down, he was close to fainting. «Thank you,» he murmured, as his eyelids were drooping closed. Alison smiled at him, resting her palm over his forehead.
«You’re very welcome. Now, go to sleep, dear.»
He did. Zemo’s eyes slid shut, and for the first time in a long time, unconsciousness was able to fully claim him.
***
Zemo had always been a light sleeper. The smallest of disturbances had him wide awake, ready to go. It had driven Heike, who woke up grumpier than a drenched cat, quite mad.
This time, a dimly familiar voice murmuring somewhere nearby dragged Zemo back to wakefulness. His brain was clouded, slow to interpret the words, his surroundings. Peeling his eyes open, Zemo blearily looked around.
His mirage of peace was dispelled immediately as the memories came thundering back into his awareness. Paralyzed, Zemo just blinked as the heavy weight settled back in his head. Like an iron blanket of everything terrible that had ever happened in the world, dropping over him all at once.
Someone moved in his peripheral vision. Zemo glanced over, and found Sam Wilson hovering by his bedside. A frown disrupted his handsome features. «Zemo?» he asked, quietly.
«Good morning, Samuel.» Zemo’s voice was sandpaper in his throat, and it sounded no better. By the look on Sam’s face, he didn’t look particularly improved either. He opened his mouth to say something – or, more likely, ask something – but Zemo cut him off. «How is James?»
Sam crossed his arms over his chest, huffing a little, like he knew exactly what Zemo was doing. «He’s beside himself, obviously, but he’s happy to hear you’re alive.»
He had half a mind to dispute that. «I have put you in an awkward position,» Zemo mused instead, a hollow shell of a smile flickering in his expression. «I apologize.»
He didn’t know why he bothered with the front. It was pointless, and it gained him nothing, but it was so reflexive he was unsure whether he could turn it off at all.
«Don’t start,» Sam said firmly. «You have nothing to be sorry for right now.» He sighed, drumming his fingers briefly against his bicep. Zemo absently approved of his choice of shirt color. Maroon suited him. «Listen, Zemo, I’m not trying to pressure you here, but you should call Bucky. He’s your friend.»
«Strong word.» Zemo’s nose scrunched in mild pain as he pushed himself into a seated position. Those drugs were working miracles.
«Hardly.» Sam had a knowing glint in his eye as he looked off to the side. Zemo knew what he meant. The reminder burned. But then Sam’s frown slipped, his expression softening into something vulnerable, something sad.
«What happened to you?» he asked, with so much genuine distress Zemo didn’t know what to do with himself. He blinked, his hands balling into fists in his lap while his heart started to hammer in his chest.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. That word, it was impossible to get it out. «A man with a grudge,» he said, his voice flat, his face blank.
«Can you tell me who?» Sam sat down in a chair that was pulled up close to the bed, his elbows resting on his thighs.
Zemo huffed, a bitter little breath of a laugh. «Yes,» he said, watching Sam’s eyes shine with rapt attention. He tried to continue, but the voice got stuck in his throat.
Sam pressed his lips into a line, his brows drawing even tighter together, somehow. «Are you worried he’ll come after you if you speak up?» he asked, with the tone of a protector. It reminded Zemo of the last time Sam had ‘protected’ him. How the times had changed.
«He will do that anyhow,» Zemo said dismissively. It did not appear to calm Sam down. «I…» he trailed off again, frustration making him sigh.
The heat burning in his face and down the back of his neck, it was shame. Zemo was ashamed. That he had let someone like Walker best him, that he had been stupid enough to put himself in the position to be– to be…. Attacked. Zemo swallowed thickly.
«I don’t wish for you to…» he started, then he aborted that sentence too.
Sam’s confusion only lasted a second before understanding took over. Zemo hated him for it. «Our history is our history. You and I were never gonna ride off into the sunset together, but I still care about you.» He said it so easily. Like it was only natural for him to admit such things to a pardoned terrorist. «Zemo, I would never think less of you for this. Never.»
«I do.» The admission, sharp with barely contained anger, was out before he could stop himself. Sam’s expression fell, his dark eyes filling with grief. Zemo couldn’t bear to look at it, so he turned his head away. «It was Walker. John Walker.»
For a few long seconds, there was only tense silence.
« Motherfucker .» Sam’s voice was hushed, but there was no disguising the electric current of fury running through it.
«They want me to file a police report.» Zemo sounded steady, but it was a farce.
Sam blinked, his eyes refocusing on Zemo with all of the anger that had just been crowding them completely evaporated. «Do you want to?»
He hesitated, looking down at his bandaged wrists. «The evidence they collected from me is abundant,» he murmured. «But I doubt his DNA is available in any non-classified capacity. No police force will listen, let alone the justice system. I barely remember–»
A headache was building, and Zemo closed his eyes for a few long seconds. «I don’t remember most of it. I am the only witness and I am beyond unreliable.»
«I have connections.» Sam’s hand curled over the edge of the mattress as he leaned forward. «I can get his sample for comparison, I can find people who’ll hear you out.»
«And what then?» The bite on his shoulder burned with phantom touches while Walker’s scent assaulted his nose. Zemo shuddered, hunching in on himself as his face went heavy and dead. «He will call it consensual, and they will believe him.»
«The brutality of your injuries–»
«Do not matter!» Zemo cut in, his voice raised and breaking. He didn’t know when he had closed his eyes, but he didn’t dare open them again. Tremors were working their way up his arms and into his chest to steal his breath away. «He took me on the 15th. He left me alone multiple times until the 17th. I never ran, Samuel.» He buried his face in his hands, digging his fingers into his fringe. «Eventually I stopped saying no all together.»
Blurry memories thundered through his head, crashing into each other in a roaring storm of agony that had Zemo fighting for air like all the oxygen in the room was draining to nothing. The bed beneath him morphed into concrete and a blinding pressure was splitting him in half as he was pressed flat onto the cold ground.
«Zemo,» that horrible voice said. He screwed his eyes tighter shut, a strangled cry shredding his throat.
«Zemo.» He jerked away from the sound, from Walker’s mouth near his ear. God, he couldn’t breathe. He was pressed so tightly to the ground he couldn’t breathe.
«James.» A different name. A good name. His mind came to a jarring stop as a wrench was thrown into the chaos. «James, you have to let go, honey. You’re hurting yourself.»
Zemo’s eyes opened, and when they found Alison’s worried face, he got a small respite from the pressure. «Hello again,» she said, relief coloring her voice. «Can you loosen your hands for me, darling? Just like this.» She held up her fists and slowly spread her fingers open. Zemo couldn’t understand what she was referring to, until another familiar face stepped into view.
«You’re scratching your arms,» Sam said, crouching down by his bedside. «What you’re experiencing is a flashback. It feels very real, but I promise it cannot hurt you.»
Zemo stared down at himself, and was abruptly aware of the stinging pain emanating from both his biceps. He latched onto the sensation, pinning his focus on it as it dragged him away from the memory. Then, his hands went limp and dropped into his lap.
«My apologies,» he whispered, hollowed out and lost.
«Don’t.» Sam smiled at him, but it was quite pathetic looking. He was far too shaken for it to reach his eyes. «It’s not on you. No matter what, none of this is on you.»
Zemo gave him a blank look. Sam wasn’t phased. «I’ll keep telling you that for as long as it takes, so get used to it.»
He found himself wanting to roll his eyes. «Childish.»
«Now that ,» Sam said, with a much easier smile this time, «Is fucking rich.»
By the time they were ready to leave the clinic, Zemo had gotten a set of fresh clothes. He could tell with a glance that they were too big, and the navy sweater looked familiar. It was, however, once Sam handed him a well loved black jacket that the pieces slotted together.
Zemo stared at it for a long moment, before he threw his shame to the wind and buried his face in the worn fabric. He nearly sagged with the relief of James’ scent enveloping him.
Sam, for once, didn’t say anything.
Zemo shared a long hug with Alison. She had technically been off duty for hours, but she never once left his side. She cradled him close and secure, and Zemo let himself sink into all the goodness she harbored in that small human heart of hers. The same as his, yet with so much more room. It reminded him of his son.
«Goodbye,» he said, once they parted. He looked up at her as she gave his arms a final squeeze. «I will never forget you.»
«Take care of yourself, dear.» She let go, folding her arms loosely across her front. Her eyes were misty as she smiled at him. «You’re strong. I’ll always believe in you.»
Those words echoed in Zemo’s head as Sam drove. They didn't need an ambulance. After sleep, medication, and a meager meal to break his fast, Zemo was feeling slightly less like death. Physically speaking.
The empty police-report was in a folder thrown onto the backseat. No one had attempted to broach that topic again.
«Have you considered calling Bucky?» Sam spoke up as traffic slowed their speed to a near crawl. Zemo sighed, keeping his stare out the window.
He had considered it. Sitting here, now, in James’ clothes that were covered in his scent, Zemo longed to see him with a ferocity that scared him. That was not the problem.
He wanted to see James, but he did not want James to see him . What if Walker had been correct in his assessment? Zemo’s heart squeezed painfully and he lowered his head until his hair curtained his eyes. «I don’t know,» was all he said.
It was the truth.
«You worried he’ll judge you?» Sam’s perceptiveness was becoming aggravating, but Zemo nodded.
«Not in a million years, man.» The severity in his voice made Zemo clench his hands inside the pockets of James’ jacket. «Remember who he is, what he’s lived through. The only thing he cares about right now is whether you’re okay.»
Zemo’s eyelids were heavy with a tangled mix of emotions he was desperately failing to make sense of. «What does he know?»
Sam sighed. «That you were hurt. No specifics, but I can’t tell you what dots he connected on his own.»
«Did he press?»
«Yeah, at first.» Sam brought the car up in speed as the traffic started to clear. «He was losing it. Spent two days looking for you.»
«He did?» Zemo breathed, his eyes wide as he stared at the dashboard.
«Of course he did.» Sam was firm, but there was a melancholy to his voice too. «He’s always looking for you.»
He squeezed his eyes shut against the sting of tears, his lips twisting into a wretched grimace. Walker was wrong. He had to be wrong. Sam wouldn’t lie to him about something like this, he had too much honor in him. He was different from people like Walker and himself.
«I will consider it.»
«Whatever you decide. he’ll understand,» Sam reminded him. Zemo nodded, his thoughts racing as he buried himself a little further in the oversized jacket.
The hospital was horrible, much as Zemo had been expecting. They received him immediately after Sam explained where they had come from and confirmed the appointment Renee had made the previous night. Zemo was herded off, the building massive and flooded with lights and people.
He reached blindly behind himself. A familiar, calloused palm found him right away, their fingers curling tightly together. No one tried to separate him and Sam after that. Even when privacy was strictly necessary, he never went far.
It wasn’t long before things started to blur together. Zemo was checked and prodded, had IVs inserted and wounds tended to.
When Sam laid eyes on the bite mark, his face went gray with shock. He stared at it like it might disappear if he just willed it to do so. Zemo never looked away from Sam’s face.
A steadily building sense of unreality was eating him alive, and he was fighting a silent, thankless battle to keep himself from falling back into that building. He didn’t want to die underneath Walker again, but he didn’t have a choice. The room was rocking and the buzz of flies was crowding into his head with each passing second.
He was losing. The doctor was professional, but his hands on Zemo’s skin as he stitched the deepest punctures were pushing him to the edge of the abyss.
«Samuel,» he said. Sam’s eyes snapped up to him. «It’s happening again.»
«I’m here,» Sam reassured him, before giving the doctor a nod to continue his work. «You’re here. Feel the mattress beneath you, squeeze the sheet in your hand.»
Zemo did as directed, feeling the scratch of cheap fabric and the stiffness of an even cheaper mattress. Sam continued to talk him through small exercises concerning the room they were in, the contents of posters on the walls, the number of lamps in the ceiling.
Before he knew it, the doctor was gone, and Zemo’s mind never returned to the nightmare.
It was later, much later, when Zemo jolted awake with a scream dying silently in his throat. Sweat covered his shivering body as he sputtered for air, phantom pressure squeezing his body, his throat.
He was crawling with maggots and spiders, eating him and picking him apart, writhing underneath his skin. He looked wildly around the room, but no one was there. It was dark, and he was alone, and–
Was Walker here? Had Sam finally understood that Zemo wasn’t innocent in all of this? How long had it been?
Unhooking the hose from his IV, Zemo crept up to the cracked open door, looking down the near-deserted hallway. No one he recognized was there. He was in a hospital gown and James’ jacket, he’d blend in. Nevermind that his feet were bare.
It didn’t matter why Sam had left. He needed to breathe air that wasn’t the suffocating hospital kind before he lost his mind all over again. He refused to remain like a sitting duck in an abandoned room.
He got through the hallways unnoticed, his mind slipping into the familiar ease of his days as a soldier. Finding the stairwell to the rooftop was like walking into a brick wall of déjà-vu, but he persisted. Breaking the locks was child's-play.
The night air wrapped around Zemo like an old friend. He let his eyes glide shut as he stepped away from the door, his head tilting back and his arms limp at his sides. The panic clinging to his back relented, just enough that he could think clearly for the first time in–
Tired eyes peeled open. He couldn’t remember. There were a lot of things he couldn’t remember, apparently. Skirting his fingers underneath thin fabric, he felt along the taser marks. Nothing occurred to him beyond a vague sense of panic, and pain. That could have come from anything.
How many times had Walker had his way? Were there others? And as the things he did remember became blurrier, a small voice in Zemo’s mind began to wonder, did anything happen at all? Was it a fiction tacked on to ordinary torture?
«You are not crazy,» Zemo told himself out loud. It didn’t help much. He sighed, embarrassed at his own vain effort. A prayer for his sanity going exactly nowhere.
Zemo had never been a religious man, especially after the death of his family. No God would leave a mother and her child to such a fate. No God would spare a man like Zemo in their stead.
So why, then, did it feel like the God he never believed in had abandoned him? Why had Zemo been left to die, over and over, in a decrepit building forgotten by the universe?
With all the great powers that existed in the world, why had none of it been enough to stop this?
The light-polluted sky had no stars in it, but Zemo searched for them anyway. The answers had to be out there somewhere. Someone must be able to explain why.
There had to be a reason why.
After a while, the cold started numbing him down. He couldn’t feel his feet anymore, and the thin pants he wore under the gown did nothing against the wind. Still, Zemo didn’t move. Up here, he had clawed an almost liminal space for himself, a pocket isolated from the rest of the world. The second he stepped back inside, it would all become real again.
That he was– That he had been–
He inhaled sharply, wrestling back the urge to cry out in frustration. Scrubbing at his eyes, Zemo had half a mind to bite the bullet and drag his shivering body back inside. The doctors would be quite unhappy with him, not that he cared much.
A noise startled him before he could make a decision. The distinct drum of footsteps coming up the stairs. Zemo’s heart thundered in his chest as he staggered backwards, his mind screeching to a halt and locking him where he was, staring at the door.
The handle jerked down. Zemo couldn’t move, could barely breathe. All logic said it was hospital staff coming to retrieve him, but he couldn’t trust logic anymore.
He would die before he let Walker touch him again. The edge was just behind him. His hand was clutching the cold railing.
The door opened, a shadow moved through. Blood rushed out of Zemo’s head into a dangerous swoop in his stomach as terror broke the surface to drag him back under.
«Zemo,» came a startled voice.
Zemo blinked, while time slowed to a crawl. He knew that voice. It was not Walker. He snapped his head up, his grip loosening on the railing as his eyes finally settled on his most foolish pipedream.
James. «I–» he started, but it never went anywhere.
Looking torn between desperation and relief, James held out his hands in Zemo’s direction. «Can you come over here?» he asked, a faint tremor in his voice.
He wanted to. More than anything. He won’t want to touch you once he knows. You’re branded, you’re weak, and you let it all happen , whispered his brain, the words coiling around him like a slowly constricting snake.
«Zemo,» James said again, his eyes shining as he took a careful step forward. «Whatever happened, I don’t care. I just need you to come to back to me.»
Zemo’s lip trembled hard enough that his teeth clattered together, yet he pried his frozen fingers off the railing anyway. Walker was wrong about James. They had all been wrong about James. Forgetting that fact was an act of betrayal.
One foot in front of the other. Mechanical and unfeeling, lest he lose control all together. The moment he was within reach, Zemo let his fingertips brush against James’ palms. No sooner had the feathery contact happened before James was curling their hands together and pulling Zemo in.
An agonized sigh rushed out of him as he cradled Zemo against his chest. One hand on the back of his neck, and the other between his shoulder blades. «You’re freezing,» he said softly.
Slow and stilted, Zemo returned the embrace, just barely hanging on to James’ waist. «I’m sorry.» His voice was muffled against the soft leather of a jacket he had spent far too long studying.
James was carefully carding through his hair, the motion sending warm sparks down Zemo’s spine to chase away the lingering discomfort at being touched. «Me too.»
Zemo frowned. «What for?»
«I could ask you the same question.»
He rolled his eyes. «I haven’t missed your riveting conversations.»
A breathy chuckle ruffled his hair as James held him a fraction tighter. A shudder passed through Zemo at the carefully controlled strength. It was nothing like Walker, who used it with no care for the fragility of the body beneath him.
«Shit, you’re shivering.» James said, misinterpreting the situation. «Let’s go find Sam. He’s trying to keep the doctors from putting the whole place in lockdown.»
Zemo curled his hands into James’ jacket. Back to reality, it seemed. «Very well.»
He was reluctantly let go as James turned to open the door. Only then did Zemo notice how much of a mess his hair was, how wrinkled the hood lying over the collar of his jacket looked.
They made it inside, the door closing behind Zemo with a click of the automatic lock that froze him in place. Once James realized he wasn’t following, he looked back with a concerned frown. «What’s wrong?»
Zemo’s hands curled into fists in a failed attempt to hide his violent tremors. Sporadic breaths had his chest jerking more than rising, and the chorus of buzzing flies in his head were pushing him down, down, down.
«James,» he forced out anyway. He had to say it before his deteriorating mind silenced him for good. «I was raped.»
The words dawned on James slowly at first. His frown loosened, his eyes widened, and his lips parted around a barely there oh .
Zemo pressed his lips together and stared down at his bare feet. For once, the hair falling infront of his eyes was a relief, because tears were welling up faster than Zemo could stop them. He had said the word. He’d admitted it, not just to James, but to himself.
He was raped. John Walker raped him.
«I should have called you,» he continued, his breath hitching. «But I’m afraid I care too much about what you think of me.»
«Zemo.» His name was spoken with such torturous softness from a man who had never known the true meaning of such a thing, but had somehow created it for himself anyway. Zemo knew what he’d find if he lifted his gaze now.
It would either be an ending, or a beginning. Both were terrifying.
A muted sound and whispers of James’ scent told Zemo he had taken a step up the stairs, toward him. «I think you’re the weirdest person I know,» James said, sounding watery, but sure. Zemo was startled enough to look at him.
The eyes that met his own were red-rimmed and pained. Tear tracks ran down his cheeks and into his stubble. «You’re so much smarter than me, I can barely keep up with you. You’re a stubborn jackass and a complete diva. You drive me up the wall .»
The bewildered frown on Zemo’s face would be comical under any other circumstances. James reached out, hesitating long enough to give Zemo the chance to back away, before cradling his wrist in his vibranium hand. His fingers caressed the white bandage, right over Zemo’s pulse point. «And dealing with it is the best damn part of my day.»
«You’re masochistic,» Zemo breathed, dumbfounded as he was.
«Nah,» James managed a smile. «You just make me happy.»
«Even now?» The question was out before he could stop it. The insecurity dripping from his voice was revolting.
«Especially now,» James assured him anyway. with tears glittering along his red lash line. The blue of his eyes were all but luminous in contrast.
A beginning, then. Zemo tried to steady himself, with meager results. Lingering on where they were interlocked, he had the thought to pull away. He didn’t. Once again he was too selfish to do the merciful thing. «Fate has dealt you a cruel hand.»
James’ grip spasmed as his carefully controlled expression faltered, revealing the rampaging guilt and sorrow just beneath the surface. He was suffering so silently, Zemo had nearly missed it. «I’m not wrong for caring about you, Zemo.» Their old argument seemed a universe away now. «Just like you weren’t wrong for doing whatever you had to do to survive.»
Zemo closed his eyes for a prolonged second, wrestling with the weight piling in his head, trying to pull him from his body. Dizziness had him staggering slightly, his hand flying to the railing for support. «How can you know that?» he asked, but he didn’t know if he wanted an answer.
«I just do,» James replied, like it was that simple. He wanted it to be with a ferocity he was not expecting.
«I hardly remember what happened.» Zemo kept his eyes downcast, knowing it would not do much to hide his shame. «Who’s to say whether I even refused–»
«Stop,» James interrupted. «Don’t go down that road. You did not ask for this, Zemo.»
A whisper-light brush against his bandaged cheekbone had Zemo’s eyes fluttering closed with a swell of suffocating emotion. He couldn’t parse it, even as the touch vanished again. His head only hurt.
He supposed that if anyone could speak to an experience of survival, it was James. It was a shallow breath he took, to steady himself. It would have to be enough.
No words were forthcoming in expressing the tangled thoughts and emotions churning in Zemo’s head, so he took to action instead. Taking a step down, he freed himself from James’ grip to cup either side of his head, his fingers splaying into dark hair. James watched him with naked curiosity, his reddened cheeks and glistening eyes making for a beautiful picture despite it all.
Zemo pressed a light, lingering kiss to James’ forehead. He lost himself in the sensation, in the familiarity interlocked in the paradoxically nice scent of that horrible 4 in 1 shampoo, in the feeling of short, soft hair against his hands. He wasn’t in an abandoned building with Walker. He wasn’t back in the nightmare.
He was safe.
«We have to find Samuel,» he said, pulling back and letting his hands glide across James’ cheeks before dropping away completely. James, however, looked so dazed that Zemo doubted he’d heard him. He huffed, a small smile blooming in his expression.
«James.» Blue eyes abruptly cleared, blinking once, then twice. «American protocols will demand a SWAT team if I am away any longer.»
«Oh, fuck.» James shook his head as a storm of anxiety and an untold number of other emotions mixed together into a tangle Zemo could hardly interpret. It was like reality had come knocking for him aswell. «Yes. I’ll call him, come on.»
They found Sam sitting on the foot of Zemo’s bed, looking close to collapsing from stress. His dark eyes zeroed in on Zemo immediately, and he completely bypassed James’ greeting as he all but leapt to his feet. «Thank god ,» he said, looking him up and down, his hands hovering above his biceps. «Zemo. I left for five minutes to get a coffee. Did something happen?»
Zemo swallowed, then looked away. «I had a– nightmare.»
«Shit.» Sam scrubbed a hand over his forehead, letting out a long sigh through his nose. «I’m sorry. I should’ve been here.»
«It was no one’s fault, Samuel.» Zemo was distracted, staring anxiously at the clock on the wall. He’d been gone for nearly 2 hours, which felt correct, but he couldn’t fill every minute well enough. «Forgive yourself and move past it.»
Zemo startled out of his thoughts when James snorted. He made a failed attempt at disguising it as a cough when Sam shot him a scathing glare. «Man, your timing is dogshit.»
«All the better,» Zemo murmured, and Sam’s attention reverted to him again, a retort already at the ready, but his expression softened when he noticed that Zemo was faintly smiling.
«Well, I’m glad someone’s having a good time.» Sam’s voice now held none of the bite it did just a moment ago. He shook his head, hands propped on his hips. «I have to go talk to the staff. My Captain America credits are wearing extremely thin.»
***
Over the next few days, Zemo gradually healed. The wounds on his back scabbed over, the bruises around his neck were now in their later stages. His wrists and shoulder stayed bandaged for now, and he remained on a host of medications against infection, but the time passing was marked generally by his getting better.
Samuel and James were never far. They were quite diligent in co-parenting him while he tried to piece his broken brain back together. The nightmares of foggy events he hardly recalled shocked him awake at night, and followed him into the daylight hours most days.
Zemo was, beyond all else, exhausted. Most of his time was spent curled on his side, the blankets covering everything except the upper half of his face. He had hardly spoken a word since waking up the morning after the rooftop incident.
James knew now. Both the what and the who. A murderous cloud had heen hanging over his head since the moment he’d been told, but he hadn’t left. Zemo was glad, because James had come too far to let a man like Walker defile his vow. He would not allow it.
Zemo’s bruises and injuries were healing, his body was setting itself straight and steadily turning him into a blank canvas again. His mind just wasn’t healing alongside it.
He stared listlessly at the half-full cup of water he had been given some time ago now. He had all but chased Sam out of the room when he had brought up the police report again. It lay untouched in its folder at the foot of Zemo’s bed.
It was wrong to say his body was becoming a blank canvas. Most of it was. His shoulder, the doctors said, would scar. Permanently. What good would the police do now? A homicidal clean-up crew who couldn’t even clean up, in this instance. It was laughable.
Whether he filed or not, Walker would roam free. Sam’s sway didn’t matter, not when the subject in need of the public’s sympathy was Helmut Zemo. He had made his bed quite efficiently in that regard.
Though even beyond that, Walker was a rapist and a power fantasy. The former being all but a protected class, and the latter earning a degree of safety which Zemo would never possess, criminal or not. No, Walker would have no justice done unto him. Not unless Zemo made good on his promises.
James may not be a killer anymore, but Zemo had never made such a commitment.
He considered the police report again, the strings of a new idea slowly weaving itself into a tapestry in his mind. He snatched Sam’s pen from the bedside table, retrieved the file, and got to work.
Assuming his body was ever found, which, really, no one could guarantee, Walker’s killing needed to look like self defense if Zemo wanted to remain out of prison. Having a report of this nature floating around to be conveniently found during the investigation would certainly bolster that notion. If the system was inadequate at helping him, he would simply have to tweak it.
They could call him a liar all they wanted. It wouldn’t matter nearly as much anymore. Convincing a jury that he had acted in self defense against an infamously violent man was a different universe from convincing them that Walker was a rapist.
Zemo had just finished the final page when he got the hair-rising inclination that something was wrong. He looked up, adrenaline already trickling into his veins. The hallway outside was far too quiet, he realized.
Slowly, he slid off the bed. It might be nothing. Perhaps there was simply a lull in activity, a random occurrence not at all unusual where human beings were concerned. Unfortunately, Zemo had been robbed of the privilege to believe in coincidence.
He sealed the bag of his IV-drip and shimmied the long tube loose before tugging the other end out of his hand. It was becoming quite the habit. Wrapping one end tightly around his palm, Zemo watched the curtained windows.
For all that he was a rabbit in a world of wolves, he refused to be made helpless again. Zemo kept his breathing deep and steady, every muscle in his body coiled for a fight as he pressed himself into the corner behind the door.
A familiar shadow passed slowly by the curtains. Tall and skulking, walking like a beast in a poorly made human suit. Zemo’s heart raged in his chest, but his head was quiet. His hands were still. Absolute focus overrode every other sense and function.
The handle pressed down, and a slight creak broke the deathly silence as the door inched open. Zemo held his breath, his eyes wide and pinned on the hand wrapping around the edge of the door. Like the claws, each finger settled down one by one, taunting and slow.
Walker stepped into the room as though the shadows were clinging to his body. A dark jacket was thrown over stolen scrubs, a black cap that Zemo immediately recognized as his own was pulled low over his face.
He turned toward the bed, and paused. Like he was waiting for Zemo to come out from behind it. Something almost like a smile carved itself onto his face. «Boo,» he whispered.
Zemo leapt onto Walker’s back with a speed that couldn’t be matched by the bewildered reflexes of a super soldier. Hooking both legs around his middle, Zemo wrapped the tube around Walker’s neck and looped the remaining end tightly in his fist. Walker let out an enraged cry, reaching blindly behind himself to throw Zemo off, but he wasn’t fast enough. Without a shred of mercy, Zemo dropped back, dangling his entire body weight on that one thin line.
Walker’s gurgling and wheezing was music to the pounding rhythm in Zemo’s ears. Even as he was swung violently around from Walker’s thrashing attempts to free himself, he held on, he tightened his grip until his fists were white and wild fury drained all the sense out of his head.
The breath was crushed from his lungs as Walker slammed him into the wall, the back of his head colliding with Zemo’s nose hard enough to send blood gushing. Zemo’s head swam, and in his stunned confusion, Walker got his fingers underneath the tube around his neck.
The sound of it tearing in half rang out like a gunshot.
«You bitch,» Walker choked out, his voice rough and abused. Zemo’s struggling vision distorted as he was flung around, his back colliding with the mattress with a loud crack as the metal frame nearly gave way from the force of impact. Walker tried to go for his wrists, but Zemo landed a vicious kick to his groin that had him staggering, one hand reflexively going to shield himself.
Zemo reached blindly for his abandoned pen, his fingers wrapping around the metal casing and clicking the top.
«Suddenly a fighter, huh?» Walker snarled, his hand twisting violently in Zemo’s hair and ripping his head back until electric agony flared in his neck. «And here I thought we had an understanding.»
«You’ll find I’m not as pliant without a taser.» Zemo squeezed his hand around the pen, hiding it in his grip.
Sadistic glee mixed in with the anger burning in Walker’s voice. «You really think I need that to get what I want?»
Bile sat like a heavy pressure in Zemo’s throat, but he forced himself to continue. «I made you a promise, John.» His voice was velvet soft, a venus flytrap for any idiot too blind to see it. «You should have used your head start.»
«Nothing can kill me. Let alone a slut like you.» Walker all but purred, leaning down lower, tugging Zemo’s head more to the side. His bloodshot eyes and blue-tinted lips gave him a look of unhinged madness. It didn’t matter how he postured, Zemo had unbalanced him. The push for retaking control was uncoordinated, sloppy.
He need only play into the fantasy to keep him distracted. «Careful, Captain.» He dealt a token kick to Walker’s hip, flashed a manufactured bit of concern in his expression. «That sounds like a challenge.»
Walker inched closer. Almost there. Zemo thought fast, and flickered an anxious glance at the door. Wicked amusement immediately filled Walker’s expression. «You’re stalling,» he declared. «That boyfriend you whore yourself out to won’t be here anytime soon. Something about him calling in a bomb threat.»
A genuine shudder wracked Zemo’s body then. He swallowed, fighting to maintain his composure. James would be fine. Sam was with him. «You’re wrong,» he said, not having to falsify the tremor in his voice this time. He thrashed against his restraints, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes from the sting in his scalp.
«Am I?» Walker whispered, before crashing his lips into Zemo’s. Panic erupted and took his self control with it. He let out a muffled scream in protest, his pulse roaring in his ears as he fought to pull his face away. Walker’s grip was unrelenting, there was no escape, the nightmare was real this time and he was too weak–
His fingers spasmed around metal, and Zemo’s heart stuttered. He latched onto the fleeting scrap of clarity with everything he had. As soon as that disgusting tongue was shoving into his mouth, Zemo wrestled with his shaking fingers to flick the pen into position. He lifted his arm, took a singular moment to steady himself.
Zemo drove the pen into the side of Walker’s exposed neck with all the power of a cornered animal taking its last doomed stand. Flesh caved and gave like butter, sending a spray of blood across Zemo’s face and hand.
Walker reared back with a scream, stumbling and knocking over chairs and equipment with his flailing. Zemo watched him with a heaving chest, blood splattered across the front of his gown and all the way up to his hair.
Zemo got up, stalking after Walker as he staggered toward the door.
In his wild attempts at finding support, Walker smeared blood all over the curtains before he finally reached the door handle, his eyes feral and glistening. Zemo folded his hands behind his back while regarding him impassively. «Did you think you could cage me?» he wondered.
The door handle rattled as Walker’s hand slipped on it. Fear was clouding his eyes, whether that be of his death or of Zemo’s imminent approach. «Don’t be scared. You won’t die from this, John.» A slow smile spread on his face when Walker flinched away from him. A spurt of blood escaped when Walker’s grip on his neck faltered. «Probably,» Zemo mused.
«You psycho bitch,» Walker choked out, his face already starting to turn a sickly shade of pale. «I’ll kill you.»
«Of course,» Zemo said, his smile dripping with patronizing mockery. «But do remember, that if you see my face or hear my name,» he leaned in closer, staying just out of arm's reach. «It is already too late.»
The door finally burst open as Walker all but shoved it off its hinges. He stumbled into the hallway, and Zemo followed after him, stopping in the doorway to watch him crash and stagger toward the emergency stairwell. He left a little red trail behind. How thoughtful.
But Zemo had a more pressing issue. He needed to find his people.
The hallways were deserted. The entire building had been cleared, and he had conveniently been forgotten. It was almost impressive that such a brute could even think to strategize like this. However crude framing James for a bomb threat may be.
The lobby was empty, save for the men in heavy tactical gear and shields concentrated around the front desk. One of them saw Zemo, and did a violent double take. «Sir, you have to–»
«There is no explosive,» Zemo cut him off. «But do feel free to look.»
Protests rang out in his wake, but Zemo wasn’t stopping. Through the glass doors, he saw a heavy concentration of police vehicles and other branches of law enforcement. Where there were police officers, stupidity was not far behind.
A chorus of confusion erupted as soon as Zemo emerged from the building. «Stop!» The officer nearest to him shouted, and she had the gall to reach for the gun on her belt. Zemo sneered at her and kept going, scanning the crowd for any sign of his two lost ducklings.
«Freeze!» Another officer yelled, and Zemo promptly ignored him as well. He thought he could see a familiar silhouette toward the back of the crowd, by a large van.
The rattle of guns being drawn made Zemo stop with an aggravated sigh. «Go ahead,» he said, loudly. «Gun down the injured, unarmed patient you forgot to evacuate.»
The woman who had first accosted him stepped up to his side, her gun pointed at his chest. She was flighty with nerves, her finger trembling on the trigger. Pathetic. «Sir, put your hands in the–»
«Did you know you’ve detained the wrong man?» Zemo spoke like she hadn’t said a word. «America’s finest. Incapable of tracing a phone call to its source.»
«Sir, I’m asking you again to put your hands in the air.» The officer ordered, and Zemo saw more approaching from his peripheral. Perhaps making them angry was not the best strategy, but he had been pushed around by bull-headed fools enough for one day.
So, he ignored her. The woman’s gun grip shook, with indignation this time. Zemo gave her an unimpressed stare. «Put that away before you hurt yourself.»
«Wow, wow, wow!» Sam’s clear voice cut through the crowd, and Zemo whipped around in his direction. He would not have Sam anywhere near this.
Ignoring the shouted warnings, Zemo strode to where Sam and, as it turned out, his primary doctor, was coming from. Their passage into the fray was between two closely parked cars. Zemo placed himself squarely in their way. His doctor seemed to have the same idea. With her hands raised, she jogged past Sam to stand next to Zemo, a tight-lipped frown on her freckled face.
«I am his doctor.» Her voice was firm but placating as she gestured carefully to her badge. «He is clearly injured, and you will let me see to him without any further delay.»
Zemo shot her a glance. He didn’t know how bold she could be.
«She’s right,» Sam spoke up, his presence not far from Zemo’s back. «So unless you want to arrest another innocent man, I suggest you put your weapons away and find the person actually responsible.»
«With all due respect, sir,» the first officer said tightly, though her gun was beginning to lower. «He could be working with the assailant. We have to–»
«The assailant assaulted me in my room after your failure to ensure my safety,» Zemo cut her off. Sam drew in a sharp breath. «I suggest you go investigate the scene once the non-existent bomb is dealt with.»
The officer opened her mouth to argue, but a loud tap on the glass doors drew everyone’s attention. One of the bomb-squad men, his helmet tucked beneath his arm, flashed a thumbs up.
A sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the crowd. «Thank you for your dismissal,» Zemo said snidely, turning on his heel and ignoring Sam’s worried stare to herd the man in front of himself. His doctor made to follow him, but she got caught in the crowd of people rushing to get other patients back indoors. Good.
«Zemo.» Sam finally couldn’t take it anymore once they were out of range of the officers.
«Your use of the word innocent is quite liberal,» Zemo said calmly, refusing to address the tremor that was beginning to take root in his fingertips. One of his was safe, but he needed the other one as well. He didn’t care who he would have to tear through to get him.
«That is not–»
«Hello.» Zemo announced himself as he approached the police van with the largest number of heavily armed guards outside it. They all gave him startled looks, but did not go for their weapons. A slim credit. «As I’m sure you’ve heard, the bomb threat was false. The man you are detaining is innocent.»
«Sir, we’re gonna have to ask you to back up,» one man said, gruff and imposing as he towered over Zemo.
«No.» Zemo slipped his hand into the pocket of his borrowed sweatpants, pulling out a flimsy little burner phone Walker had so kindly let him steal in the midst of their brawl. He flipped it open, revealing the only call in its history. The hospital’s number. «The true criminal paid me a visit while I was alone in the building,» he said, conversationally. «He seems to have dropped this in the scuffle. Mr. Barnes could hardly do such a thing while you had him chained like an animal, hm?»
They all stared dumbly at him, one slow blink after the next. Zemo rolled his eyes to the heavens. «Where is your boss?» he said, with a sigh.
It took a further twenty minutes of back and forth debating, near the end of which Zemo’s patience wore thin enough that Sam had to step in and do damage control. But eventually, the goon squad were convinced to let James go.
As soon as the doors were opened, Zemo slipped out of Sam’s tentative hold and shouldered past everyone in his way. He jumped into the back of the car with utter apathy toward the loathing in the eyes following him.
James was in the very back, chained to the floor via a pair of pitiful handcuffs. He was staring at Zemo like he’d been decapitated, but there was no time to address that. Zemo swept assessing eyes up and down James’ body as he crouched in front of him, the keys he’d stolen jingling while he got the cuffs open.
«Where did he–» he heard a stunned voice just outside start to say, but when the cuffs clattered to the floor, James snatched Zemo’s face between his hands and derailed his focus entirely.
«It isn’t mine,» Zemo said, quietly. «Except the nose.»
James was unharmed. He had let himself be taken without a fight. Anyone who knew his abilities understood that he could break such flimsy restraints in his sleep. Still, anger coiled in Zemo’s chest over them having had the nerve to cage him in the first place.
James was wholly unconcerned with that. «What happened?» he asked, his eyes wide with distress.
A hairline fracture cracked through Zemo’s composure, and he cast his eyes down, drawing a subtle breath. «Walker visited. He set you up.»
«Did he–»
Zemo looked up sharply as a snare tightened around his throat and heart. «He tried.»
James’ bottom lip trembled as his fears were confirmed. He stroked a thumb over Zemo’s bloodied cheek, something agonized writhing behind the anxiety storming in those pale eyes. «You always come back covered in blood,» he said, like a quiet confession of guilt.
It was enough to make Zemo falter. He blinked, his mouth open around words he couldn’t form. He closed his hand over cool vibranium, giving the fingers a firm squeeze.
«Disharmony will always follow me, James.» The rest of the world faded out of focus until it was just the two of them, facing each other in a Siberian snowstorm. «It is the bed I’ve made.»
Sadness was running through James like it had always had a home within the haunted halls of his body. «Is he alive?»
Zemo gave a barely there nod. «For now.» He brought James’ hand down, cradling it in the shelter of their bodies. «You cannot ask me to stop, as I cannot ask you to support me.»
James glanced down at that, regarding his hand that was cocooned in both of Zemo’s. «I’m always with you,» he murmured. Honesty was burning in him, a glow of vivid orange in the desolate landscape. «I’m just sorry you think you caused this.»
Like the screeching sound of a violin’s string breaking, Zemo’s mind came to a violent halt. His spine stiffened as he jerked back, dizziness creeping from the edges of his vision. More cracks were building in his armor, a spider web of impending catastrophe that he couldn’t stop, couldn’t–
A bang on the outside of the van startled them both. Zemo could only yelp as he was abruptly shoved behind James’ back.
«Cops need to see the room,» the tall officer said. James tensed, his arm held across Zemo’s chest.
«Why can’t they go by themselves?» He made no show of hiding his hostility.
Zemo sighed, his sense returning to him in pieces, and carefully brushed James aside. «It is more efficient if I am there to explain the scene,» he reasoned, knowing it would do nothing to dispel James’ doubt. «I would be happy to have you and Samuel with me.»
It was clear the moment James gave in. With a deep frown carving shadows into his beautiful face, he gave a look of aggrieved resignation. «Like we’d leave you alone,» he muttered, following Zemo as he jumped back onto the pavement.
«Damn right we’re coming,» Sam agreed, standing on their left with his arms crossed over his chest and an expression that told the world he had zero fondness of his current company.
By the time they reached the hallway that led to his room, flies were buzzing in Zemo’s head. The world seemed to float, lagging half a second behind his awareness, with the floor rocking under his feet with each step.
The trail of blood was still there. He hadn’t imagined it. Zemo pointed it out to one of the three officers who had come with them, and two broke off from the group to follow it.
Zemo closed his eyes around a barrage of dizziness, his nails digging half-moons into his palms to force him back into his body. The sting was his only anchor. «He entered quietly,» Zemo said, finding himself by the still open door with little memory of how he got so close.
Inside, it looked like a carnage had taken place. Which, really, might as well have been the truth. His companions were careful to avoid disturbing the scene as they filed in. Sam looked nauseous, and James was glued to Zemo’s side with enough repressed anger to start a forest fire.
«Where were you?» The officer, Rivers, had a notepad and a pen at the ready. It was rather rustic looking.
Zemo pointed at the corner. «I sensed something was wrong. I used my IV tube as an improvised weapon.»
Rivers frowned, looking up from her writing. «How?»
It proved to be difficult not to smile at the memory. An unholy mixture of terror and satisfaction rolled in his stomach. «I strangled him with it.»
A spark of nervousness overtook the officer's expression. She nodded curtly, and scribbled the new information down. «You’re certain he was coming to harm you?»
«He was coming to rape me again,» Zemo corrected her, like one might correct a child making an error in their homework. She blanched, but didn’t protest. Or apologize, for that matter.
A slight pull let Zemo know that James was holding on to the back of his hospital gown. A drop of tension bled out from his shoulders.
«And, uhm,» Rivers continued, clearing her throat in an attempt to regain her composure. «What happened next?»
«I was on his back,» Zemo explained, gesturing as he went. «He crushed me against the wall there.» There was a sizable dent to prove his point. «My nose was struck in the fight, and he managed to gain leverage. We–»
Zemo paused, realizing he was out of air. With a stuttering inhale that failed to do much more than intensify the breathlessness, he forced himself to continue. «He threw me onto the bed. Said what men usually say to a person they’ve seen fit to violate.»
Tremors were working their way up his arms and into his chest and neck, and it was all he could do to keep it out of his voice. His legs shook in its stead, making his slow walk toward the bed an unsteady one.
«Zemo,» Sam interjected, and Zemo felt the weight of his worried gaze. «If you need a break–»
«No.» Zemo picked up the bloodstained police report, tossing it at Rivers who had to scramble to catch it. He swallowed, but his throat was so parched it hurt more than it helped.
«He told me of his false bomb threat.» Zemo trailed a finger across the clean parts of the sheet, the indent of his body still visible in the cheap mattress.
«He confessed to making it?» Rivers asked doubtfully, her eyes probing into Zemo like he would have a singular reason for making such a thing up.
«Yes.» His voice was more venomous than he had intended. «He then called me a whore and forced his tongue down my throat. An upstanding citizen all around, wouldn’t you say?»
Rivers looked like she had been slapped across the face, her eyes glued to the pad her fumbling hand wasn’t writing on. Anger rose to a near fever-pitch as he stared at her, his fingers itching for a confrontation, but a harsh sigh from the corner of the room popped the bubble.
Zemo’s gaze snapped to James, who’s boiling rage put his own to shame. This interview needed to end before he did something stupid.
«In retaliation, I stabbed his neck with a pen. One of yours,» he looked at a shaken Sam who was still clinging into his composure by a thread. «I must have hit something important.» He made a flippant gesture to the room as a whole.
Rivers was watching him with something akin to fear in her eyes while she squeezed her own pen a little tighter. Like she was just now realizing that the wounded creature in front of her had blood on its teeth.
«The blood loss is…» She started, staring at the smear across the curtains and door, the mattress, the floor – and Zemo himself. «Sir, the chances of him having survived–»
«Are high,» James interrupted before anyone else could. His voice was hard as stone, like all feeling had been sucked into the vacuum of space. Zemo met Sam’s eyes for a split second with mirrored looks of disquiet passing between them. «Read the report. His name is John Walker, and he’s enhanced. Like me.»
Rivers’ gaze flitted between them all as tension mounted in her body. Sam picked that moment to step up next to her, looking more composed than all of them combined. «If you’re all finished with his statement,» he said, gesturing to the door.
«Yes,» she confirmed, taking shelter in Sam’s calmer energy. Little did she know how fictitious it was. «You will have to come to the station for an official statement, sir. We will be in touch.»
«Of course,» Zemo said drily, before turning on his heel and marching out of the room. He was exhausted, covered in blood, and the taste of Walker’s tongue was still stuck to the roof of his mouth. Zemo didn’t realize he was squeezing his hand over the bandaged bitemark until a twinge of pain altered him to it.
He bumped into people filing back into the building, but it hardly registered over the rush of blood in his ears. Zemo’s head spun as he fought to keep moving, to keep the nightmare from reaching him.
Rounding a corner, Zemo found a bathroom and shoved the door open. He needed to clean himself up. If he could just get clean, it would be fine. If he just–
A ragged, unrecognizable face met him in the mirror. Sallow skin was made even worse by the oxidizing blood spattered all over it. His hair was in disarray, the faint curls tangled and falling in chaos over his forehead. The one point of contrast was his lips. Lively and reddened, slightly swollen.
This was not a man who had a hope of ever being clean again.
His knees buckled under the crushing weight that dropped over his head. Zemo wanted to reach for the sink to catch himself, but his arms were too heavy. Slowly, quietly, he crumpled onto the floor, his body sagging to one side as the strength to keep himself upright bled out of him. A puppet with its strings cut, staring with empty eyes at nothing at all.
Snap out of it , he told himself. You can let this go .
He couldn’t. He was drowning, and he didn’t want to fight anymore.
Something warm tumbled down Zemo’s face, making his skin itch. Tears, he realized. His deadened, expressionless eyes were crying.
A sound registered vaguely to his senses, interrupting the suffocating buzzing that was on the brink of consuming him entirely. Fear fluttered in his chest, but he didn’t move. If Walker was back, then that was that. Zemo had lost. He couldn’t be strong anymore.
«There you are,» said a familiar voice. Zemo twitched, his eyes flickering to the side. Sam was crouched a little ways away. Behind him, James lingered.
There was a desolate despair in the words that escaped him. «I was so sure.»
«Of what?» Sam asked gently.
«Everything.» Zemo’s neck kept growing weaker until it could barely support the weight of his head. «I don’t know anything anymore.»
The admission was humiliating. It meant that a man like John Walker had broken him, taken his mind from him. It should have been like any other battle. Any other injury he had walked away from. But it was not, and he could not.
He should have known, he supposed. That he didn’t stand a chance. «Why did it have to be me, Samuel?» he asked, his voice cracking and breaking.
Sam looked as though he was in a great deal of pain. Zemo faintly worried if he was injured. «There is no why, Zemo. No logic or reason that could ever make sense of it.» He blinked roughly once, twice. «You… you didn’t deserve this. I’m so sorry.»
There was never any reason where he was concerned, it seemed. Only an endless string of nonsensical violence, committed both by- and against him. He was so tired of it all. Made ancient by the tragedy that created him, he hadn’t slept for a century. And it never stopped. There was always something new.
If not penance, then what? Nothing? Was he meant to live with that?
Tears crowded in his eyes between each blink. Movement in his peripheral garnered no reaction. It wasn’t until James sat down, a damp, folded paper towel in his hand, that Zemo finally peeled his eyes from the middle distance.
«We need to get that blood off of you.»
Something sharp twisted in his heart. «Nothing can remove it.»
«Let me try anyway.»
When their eyes met, Zemo was not prepared to find a mirror waiting for him. It was a reflection of his emptiness. His cold, desolate, emptiness.
He nodded, barely a twitch of his head.
«I’ll go find the doctor,» Sam said quietly, like he was afraid of breaking the tentative spell that had settled over the room. James acknowledged him with a tight-lipped smile.
It was gone by the time he faced Zemo again. He got to work, starting at his forehead and working his way down methodically, carefully. He had to change the paper multiple times, and the loss of contact burned in every interval.
By the time the final piece of stained paper fell away, Zemo’s body had lightened, and he could move his limbs again. James was cradling his hand, inspecting it to see whether any blood remained beneath his nails. To the naked eye, they were all but sparkling. That mattered little to men like them.
«I gotta check your stitches,» James said, having clearly anticipated how Zemo would shudder with revulsion. «Please, it–»
«I hate that word,» Zemo interrupted harshly.
There was a pregnant pause where James transitioned from confusion, to realization, and finally to angry despair. His face twisted with the barely contained emotion before it was shoved back down again. «I’m sorry,» he said.
Zemo didn’t say anything. Instead, he shifted his hospital gown until the bandage on his shoulder was accessible. «Get it over with.»
With resignation coloring every inch of his face, James got started. Gentle, clinical fingers peeled back the bandage. A soft curse told Zemo something had indeed ripped. Without really being conscious of it, he twisted his neck in an attempt to see it.
The most he got was a glimpse of the outer tooth marks. Red and angry looking, but with intact stitches. Bile crept up his throat as the voice of the doctor discussing their permanence echoed in his head. «I’m ugly,» he whispered, his breath hitching.
A finger pressed into the underside of Zemo’s chin, tilting his head up until he and James were facing each other. «Never.» The word was spoken like it was sacred. Zemo didn’t believe him, but he wanted to. He desperately wanted to.
James carefully smoothed the bandage back down. The metal fingers pulling his gown back up had Zemo shivering, the back of his neck prickling with a confusing mixture of revulsion and want. He needed to break the silence before James could see more than he already had.
«I was scared.» Zemo’s voice was hoarse and weak. James looked up, startled to hear him talk again so soon.
«Of course you were.»
«Not for myself,» Zemo disagreed with a shake of his head. «For you. He told me he framed you.» When his hair fell into his eyes, Zemo welcomed it. Any armor against the searing vulnerability of being so naked was welcomed. «I could have killed him. It would have been childs play. But all I could think of was finding you.»
A quiet moment passed between the two of them wherein James’ grip, which had reappeared around Zemo’s hand, slackened. «What does that mean?» Zemo all but pleaded with him.
«It means you care,» James said, like it was the easiest truth in the world. Like it wasn’t terrifying, doomed. «It means you beat him.»
Zemo scoffed. «This does not feel like a victory.»
«I know.» James looked distant for a moment as he retreated into his own mind. «But it will, eventually.»
The words rolled around in Zemo’s head, making less and less sense for every second that went by. Victory should mean killing Walker, yet he had bypassed it. Revenge, the singular thing that kept him alive after losing his family, hadn’t so much as crossed his mind. It was only Sam and James. He only dared breathe again once he had them back.
Did that mean he cared? Did he even have the capacity to care anymore? He had forfeited his soul a long time ago, and with it, any right to such… softness. Yet here he was.
He studied James’ face, tracing every dip and curve, trying to organize the storm of emotions that rumbled in his head at the sight of him. Zemo did not know how to make sense of it. He only knew he wanted him to stay.
«James,» he said, bringing blue eyes back into focus. There was one way to test the theory slowly forming in his head. Bracing his hand on the floor, Zemo leaned forward. Their noses just barely brushed when a gentle pressure against his chest brought him to a stop.
James’ eyes were closed as he tipped his forehead to rest it against Zemo’s. «Not like this.» A heavy heartbeat of longing echoed in his hushed voice.
«Why?» Zemo studied the way James’ eyelashes fluttered, casting shadows against his cheekbones.
«Because you deserve so much better.»
A faint smile broke the frozen blankness of his face. «And you claim to be difficult to love.»
James huffed, leaning back just far enough to brush his lips against Zemo’s forehead. It was hardly more than skin passively resting on skin, but a flutter of warmth erupted in his chest all the same.
When they parted, James had a dusting of rose over his cheeks and ears. «Did you just say you love me?»
Zemo blinked, the equivalent of a record scratch happening in his mind. «Oh,» was all he managed, his brows knitting together in confusion.
Something about it must have been comical, because James laughed, bowing his head and covering his mouth with the back of his hand. If it wasn’t such a relief to see some life returned to him, Zemo would have delivered a smack to the shoulder in retaliation.
«Let’s get out of here,» James suggested once he collected himself. «You need to get your stitches re-done.»
Zemo took the hand offered to him and felt a swoop in his stomach at how effortlessly he was pulled to his feet. «Right,» Zemo replied, absently spreading rubbing alcohol over his hands. He ought to shower in the stuff. Why did he have to break down on the floor of a public bathroom?
James took the lead, his fingers loosely clutching the sleeve of Zemo’s gown all the way back to his, by now, destroyed room. Zemo hoped he could get his meager belongings out of there. Especially James’ jacket.
Speaking of. Zemo subtly glanced up at him, a frown still lingering on his face. Was he really in so deep that he loved this man?
The answer was both immediate and startlingly clear. Zemo looked away, his fingers clenching into an unsteady fist. «If I may,» he started, awkwardly.
«Hm?» James glanced at him, but didn’t slow.
«I think it might be better if–» Zemo paused, letting out a frustrated huff. This should not be so difficult. «Logistically speaking, perhaps Samuel would agree to–» he broke off again with a withering glare at his own stupidity.
«Zemo, what–»
Oh, what was dignity, anyhow. «Could you take me home?»
James faltered in his step. «Yeah, of course,» he said, sounding almost dazed. The hand clutching Zemo’s sleeve cautiously moved down, and transitioned to holding him by the waist instead.
It fit into place like it had never belonged anywhere else.
***
Getting back to life in the apartment was odd. To put it mildly. Zemo still worked on a consultant basis with Sam and James’ missions, using his assets and information to supply them with whatever it was they needed.
It took a long while before he went outside by himself. James had point black refused for the first month, and Zemo hadn’t been eager to contest him. There hadn’t been a whisper regarding Walker in any official channels. The unofficial ones were frustratingly quiet as well.
What Zemo could infer was that Walker had run away to his benefactor, and they were keeping him out of sight. That also meant the likelihood of him being out in the open were slim.
There was, after all, an ongoing investigation. Not that Walker would know. Sam’s connections had pulled through with the sample, and it matched both Zemo’s rape kit and the blood at the hospital. All that remained was releasing it to the public, but Zemo had managed to avoid that thus far.
Walker’s ego would be decimated if public opinion soured even further about him. Zemo would prefer a false sense of security over a man who thought he had nothing left to lose. The latter was significantly more likely to take collateral damage.
Zemo glanced at where Sam and James huddled over the kitchen table, files strewn out between them while they bickered about strategy.
It would have been quite domestic, if reality wasn’t what it was. He hadn’t had an open breakdown in front of James since that last day in the hospital, but that did not mean peace. He had slipped into a routine of forcing his fragmented being into a roughly human shaped outline during the day, and quietly falling apart once the sun set.
Every night, paralysis spread through his body limb by limb. The shadows in the corners of the room would come alive, creeping closer until the mattress dipped around him as an invisible presence crawled up the bed. Burning touches pressed into his body, the bite mark on his shoulder aflame with phantom pain.
Through it all, he forced himself to lay perfectly still while staring at the ceiling, waiting for it to be over. But it was never really over, was it?
James knew something was plaguing him, but he was kind enough not to push it.
Zemo stood with his back against the kitchen counter, his forgotten glass hanging limply in his grasp. The wall in front of him morphed, like it was breathing.
Another nightmare. Another flash-back. Zemo couldn’t remember the last time he slept well. He was hollowed out and ugly, hovering in the dark kitchen like a foregone ghost with only the flies in his head for company.
«Zemo?» Said a sleep-rumpled voice. Zemo startled violently, the glass flying from his hand and shattering on the floor with a shrill crash.
A Sokovian curse burst out of him as he crouched down, starting to pick up the pieces with his bare hands. «No, no!» James rushed over, snatching his wrists before Zemo could continue. «Jesus. Not like that. I’ll get a towel.»
Zemo stared blankly at the mess, his thoughts too quiet and muted to be legible. He accepted the offered towel automatically and started over again, gingerly picking up the shards while James went in search of the hand-held vacuum cleaner.
«Hey,» James said, 15 minutes later. There was no evidence left of the accident. «Are you alright?»
No, Zemo’s thoughts shrieked. But he couldn’t voice it. He was supposed to be improving, healing. If it looked like he was, it would become true eventually. «I’m fine, James,» he said, his performance face back on. «Though more skittish than I used to be, apparently.»
‘I am lonely,’ he wanted to say. ‘I’m seeing things that are not there, I’m terrified I’m losing my mind.’ Not a word left him. It was all too unsightly, and it was embarrassing being in a constant state of victimization. Zemo just wanted his life back. Even if he had to create it from a farce.
James looked unsure, a small frown tugging at his lips. In the end, he ceded ground, but the recognition in his eyes spoke volumes. «Just– I’m here for you, alright?»
«I know.» Zemo forced a smile. «You’re already helping more than you realize.»
The memory sat coldly in the front of his mind. No, in an effort of kindness, James never pushed. Instead, he made sure there was always coffee ready when Zemo emerged dead-eyed and exhausted in the morning, and he let Zemo stand with his forehead pressed against his back without a word.
Little things that, ultimately, were his sole ties to his sanity. The question was whether they were strong enough. Zemo was beginning to doubt it.
With a muted sigh, Zemo rose to his feet. He had an errand he needed to run, which sounded surreal to his overwrought brain. To have something so mundane to do when his mind was collapsing.
As mundane as picking up questionably legal information regarding the whereabouts of his rapist could be, that was. Semantics.
«You’re leaving?» James spoke up just as Zemo reached the coat rack. He looked like he had half a mind to abandon Sam to play guard dog again, and as much as Zemo’s own nerves would prefer that, he couldn’t be dependent on another person to that degree. He was viscerally opposed to the idea. Too early in life, he learned that holding one’s own hand is an invaluable ability to have.
Walker did not get to take that too.
«Yes,» Zemo confirmed, foregoing his own coat for James’ leather jacket. It wasn’t entirely in poor taste with his outfit. Besides, it was warm. It had snowed the night before. «I won’t be long.»
He faced them both as he was tying his scarf around his neck, his hands already covered by a pair of black gloves. Sam kept his nerves quite successfully under wraps, but James was frowning. Zemo made a show of rolling his eyes, before opening his arms wide.
The hug was swift and crushing, just like it always was. Zemo was tiptoeing as James nearly took him off his feet.
«You’re suffocating him, Buck,» Sam said drily, finally prompting James to release him with a guilty look on his face.
«I will be fine, James,» Zemo said as he straightened his clothing.
«Yeah.» James sounded like he was trying very hard to convince himself. «See you later.»
The gun tucked into his waistband was an assurance, at the very least. Not that anyone knew he had swiped it just yet. It was against his release terms for him to be armed. Zemo offered them both a smile, and made his way out.
The weather was frigid and the ground slippery, though Zemo found he didn’t mind. Brooklyn foot-traffic was always burdensome, but the weather had lessened it somewhat.
Zemo had always been vigilant in crowds, but now, he grew weary in no time at all with how tirelessly his brain saw everything. The amount of information being processed and filed in the moments between seconds was staggering.
Before Walker, he had already been quite an introverted person. That was turned up to new heights. He hated being around people these days, but he would lose his mind if he returned to a life of staring at the same four walls.
It seemed a bitter irony.
He reached the drop-off point without incident some twenty minutes later. After grabbing a thin envelope from the designated P.O box, he folded it up and tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket. He could only hope the news were better this time around.
Zemo took a moment to lean against the battered lockers. As time passed, the acuteness of the psychological wound faded. Zemo had hoped things would revert to a relatively normal state after that, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that something new was replacing it. He was unfathomably miserable.
It wasn’t grief. That, he had learned to nurse like an old friend. It meant his wife and child were still of this world, somehow. Love for them could never hurt him, no matter what shape it took. He knew that now.
This was different. It was like a slow-working poison, and it wasn’t his . He was withering by the power of someone who wasn’t even present, and every day, the world lost more of its color. Zemo was losing his ability to connect to it all together, existing like a being encased in ice, untouchable at the cost of being unreachable.
He and James hadn’t so much as mentioned what happened between them in the hospital. James had stopped trying before long, making a valiant effort to hide his disappointment. He was too kind for his own good.
«Touch me, and you will regret it.» The hand reaching for his shoulder froze in place. Zemo stepped away from the lockers and faced a man he hadn’t seen before.
He raised a questioning eyebrow. The man took the hint. «You’ve been looking into Walker,» he said, in lieu of introducing himself.
«Have I?» Zemo wondered, his hand itching for the gun pressing against his lower back.
«Look, I’m not here to start anything. I hate that guy as much as you do.»
I sincerely doubt that. Zemo didn’t outwardly react beyond an unimpressed stare. «I fail to see what this conversation is supposed to achieve.»
«Listen,» the man took a step closer, then wisely second guessed that decision when Zemo’s glare turned sharp. «Listen. The only reason I know this is because I work for– people.»
«Oh, yes. Them.» Zemo didn’t care to hide his sarcasm.
«We have intel. That mission your boys just got? Walker’s on the same one. His boss assigned him to it.»
Zemo’s attention was snagged, but suspicion was running like an electric current under his skin. «Why are you telling me this?» he asked, his eyes narrowed.
«I’m not supposed to,» the man said, a sudden burst of anger in his eyes. «But I’m out of options, and I know what you can do. Walker worked with us once, and he attacked my friend. No one could do anything about it, the law won’t touch him.»
Another envelope was held out to him. Zemo took it, and wasted no time in opening it. A written statement and a doctor's report not unlike his own were inside. Identifiable information was redacted, but that hardly gave him pause.
«I see,» Zemo murmured, his eyes darting over the pages. Cold hatred spread from his spine and through his body, racing from nerve to nerve until every bit of him was encased in biting frost. «You may tell your friend I intend to do what I can.»
The man looked surprised for a moment, before it evaporated into a steely gratitude. With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and stalked off. Gone again, just like that. No name, no nothing. He had probably followed a trail left by his informant to get here, if what he said about his supposed group was true. Zemo would need to have a word with her.
The chances of this being a set-up seemed unavoidably large. He would be a fool to believe something without triple-checking the sources. Two months ago, he would have done so without a second thought. But looking at the woman’s statement, the details of what happened to her…
People did not lie about that.
The papers joined the ones already in his inner pocket. The walk back to the apartment happened in a daze, his face frozen into an impassive mask as the tense line of his shoulders radiated pure rage. He cut through the crowd, people dodging out of the way as he passed.
He entered the apartment calmly. Sam and James were, predictably, still arguing over the specifics of their mission. Zemo took off his outer clothes, put his shoes in their proper place, retrieved the envelopes from his pocket.
The second James laid eyes on him, his expression went from bored to alarmed. He stood, crossing the room in seconds. «Zemo.» His voice revealed a man expecting the worst. «What happened?»
Sam was standing too, though he had remained at the table, watching over them both in case he needed to swoop in.
«I was approached with some news,» Zemo said, and all eyes turned to the envelopes in his hand. «And I have decided that I will be joining you on your next mission.»
«What?» Sam exclaimed simultaniously as James’ no fucking way .
Zemo ignored them both. He brushed by James and threw the envelope he’d already opened onto the table. He tore open the remaining one, pulling out the stack inside.
Sam was looking over his shoulder, reading alongside him. «Shit,» he muttered, while Zemo only clicked his tongue. It was largely redundant now, but it confirmed what his elusive source had said.
Walker was going to be at the warehouse, going after the very same intel.
He passed the papers over to James once his presence appeared at his back, and they were accepted without a word. «I will not be left behind,» he said, hearing James curse under his breath.
«Zemo, how long have you been tracking him?» Sam was firm, but attempting to be placating. It was an admirable effort.
«Since the beginning. I thought it rather obvious.» He raised his eyebrows at Sam, who looked mildly exasperated in turn. «My tenure in prison did not tarnish my resources, Samuel.»
«But your–»
«My release is fine.» Zemo interrupted. «I have not committed any traceable crimes by cashing in favors.»
«Can you shut up and listen to me for a second?» Sam stopped him before Zemo could launch into another argument. «I don’t care about the legality of your PI work. You’re not stupid enough to get caught. I care about what it’s doing to you.» His dark eyes were always bright, but now, they were all but shining with the earnestness of his emotions. It made Zemo falter. «Are you sure that facing him like this is a good idea?»
His brows drew together as he cast his eyes away, acutely aware of James’ churning presence not far behind him. It was not a good idea. Everything about this idea hurt.
«That is irrelevant.» Zemo said, his voice softened. He brushed his fingers over the second envelope. «The person who approached me today is a friend of the woman who came before me.»
Sam blanched, and he closed his eyes as he breathed a quiet sigh from his nose. «Damn.»
«I will not have a successor.» Zemo watched Sam’s resolve waver, a conflicted look passing over him. «This ends with me.»
James came up next to him, throwing the mission file onto the table with enough force to send loose papers flying. His jaw muscles rippled as he clenched his teeth together, encased in an electric thunderstorm of anger. «Why is it always you, Zemo? Why are you the one stuck in his fucking orbit?»
Zemo let out a startled yelp when he was yanked into a desperately strong embrace. James was trembling from deep within his core, only detectable if you were right up against him. «It shouldn’t have to be you.»
«I want it to be.» The honesty was scathing, crackling in his voice alongside the stirring embers of his constant, unyielding rage. «I have the ability. With that comes an obligation.»
«But I can–»
«No,» Zemo said, too loud for the small apartment. This was the control he had been begging for. A chance to enact his own justice, and not just on his own behalf. «You will not fight my battles for me.»
James tensed, but his embrace didn’t loosen. «This is fucking insane,» he said, his fists clenching in Zemo’s shirt like he could keep him there forever. «How is this fair?»
«I never claimed it was.» Zemo snapped, pushing against James’ chest and getting exactly nowhere. «Let go , you child.»
«No. You’ll disappear again.» James planted his chin on Zemo’s head and pulled them flush together, thigh to, in Zemo’s case, face. With a muffled sound of protest, he squirmed to get an arm free, shoving his hand into the side of James’ face. When his finger hit something soft and wet, James cursed, yanking his head away yet stubbornly refusing to let go.
«Guys.» Sam moved forward. «Enough!»
They both stilled, Zemo with his hand beneath James’ chin and James balancing on one leg as the other kept Zemo from toppling them both.
«Jesus christ,» Sam muttered with a long-suffering sigh. «Zemo, stop being mad that we’re worried about you. And Bucky,» his tone was sharp enough that Zemo could visualize his glare perfectly. «Drop it.»
It was such an absurd command that Zemo choked back a half-hysterical laugh, and James faltered, his indignation all but audible. Sam took the opportunity to pry his arms loose from around Zemo, pushing the two of them apart and settling down on top of the table between them.
He sighed, looking at his laced together hands. «Now that we’re civil,» Sam began, ignoring how thin that statement was. «I see your point, Zemo.» James scowled fiercly. «But I cannot send a man into the field knowing his rapist will be there.»
«Short of locking me in a cell,» Zemo looked pointedly at James, «There is nothing you can do to stop me. We might as well coordinate.» Folding his hands behind his back, he met Sam’s eyes with unrepentant stubbornness.
«You’re going to kill him.» James said it like a statement, not a question. He was staring at the floor, his eyes dark.
«Yes.» There was no point in denying it. «I think I have proven myself more than capable of that.»
«And if this is a trap?»
«Then it will not be us caught in it.» Not them, anyhow. Zemo was not a high priority when calculating how best to see this through.
James met his eyes, suspicion clouding his expression. Zemo remained impassive.
«There’s really nothing we can do to change your mind?» Sam sounded almost pleading, the downturn of his lips betraying the sorrow that was hiding behind his stern mask.
Zemo’s eyes softened in tandem with a pang of regret in his heart. «No, Samuel.»
«Alright,» he said, with the tone of a man who did not find it alright in the slightest. «On two conditions.»
«Enlighten me.»
«First, you wear an earpiece.» Zemo nodded his acceptance. He had expected as much. «Second,» Sam looked at James for a moment. «You keep a tracker on you at all times, and you do not, under any circumstance, turn it off.»
He reflexively bristled, his shoulders rising as tension overtook them. But James was refusing to even look at him, his displeasure at the situation near palpable. That was dangerous. Unpredictable. Zemo would submit to the discomfort if it lessened the likelihood of James running interference.
Were he to do such a thing, it would put him within Walker’s reach. Zemo could not allow that. «Fine. Earpiece and tracker.»
«That’s settled, then.» Sam didn’t look very happy with his victory. «You two clearly have a lot to talk about. I need you ready to leave three nights from now, is that clear?»
«Crystal,» Zemo said. James didn’t verbally agree, but after a pointed look from Sam, he gave a stiff nod of his head.
The rest of the evening passed by in what could only be described as a chilly silence. James spent his time pouring over his files, and Zemo read. The book hardly held his attention, and he had long intervals of mindless scrolling through news sites.
It was ridiculous. The chance of this being one of his very last nights with James was high, yet here he was, isolated in the bedroom.
Making up his mind, Zemo rolled out of bed and emerged quietly into the living area. James was seated on the couch Zemo had practically bullied him into purchasing, and he didn’t look up at the approach he undoubtedly heard.
Fine. If he wanted to be so obstinate, Zemo would simply become impossible to ignore. He went right up to the couch, slapped the papers out of James’ hand, lifted one leg over knees, and promptly sank into his lap.
«I’m busy,» James said after a miffed delay. Zemo hooked his chin over his shoulder and shuffled into a more comfortable position. A loud sigh filled the room. «And you call me a child.»
James could have thrown Zemo off as easily as breathing, and he had half-way expected such an outcome, but it never came. Instead, he settled his hand on the small of Zemo’s back, securing him in place.
«You said you were with me,» Zemo murmured, picking at the collar tag on James’ sweater.
James sighed again. «I am. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.»
It hurt, the way he slumped with anticipatory grief. Like Zemo was already gone, and there was no stopping it. And perhaps that was true – only time would tell. But until then, they had this moment. If Zemo had learned anything this past decade, it was that scarce time mattered more than anything.
«It started as revenge.» He shifted, resting his forehead in the crook of James’ neck. «I have certainly killed for less. But that is no longer the point.»
The woman’s file flashed in his mind. «I can’t sleep, James,» he said, nursing the familiar heaviness that sank over him. «Everything I eat tastes like ash. I am alone no matter where I go, and the stars aren’t shining anymore.»
«I’m sorry,» James said, with quiet hopelessness in his voice.
«Don’t be.» He squeezed the back of James’ neck in reassurance. «I keep thinking that there must have been something I could have done–»
«It wasn’t your fault,» James cut in immediately. Zemo huffed, a sad smile tugging on his lips.
«As I was saying,» he pressed on. «I understand now that it is pointless to circle that point. Whose fault it was will not change the outcome. What I do have is an opportunity to eliminate a threat.»
«It isn’t your responsibility to punish him. You owe him nothing.» James said, sounding haunted.
«I know, James.» Zemo rubbed gently at James’ tense shoulder, trying to soothe his pain away. «But it is a point of principle, and I fear those are all I have left of myself.» He shivered when the full truth about his slipping sanity nearly tumbled out of him. «There is no justice while he is breathing the same air as her and I.»
James cupped the back of Zemo’s head, his fingers burying themselves in his hair. «I know I can’t stop you, so– just promise me you’ll come back. I need you here.»
Zemo’s eyes fluttered shut, heartache piercing through his chest. «It would be wiser to let me go.» He couldn’t lie to James and promise something he had no way of keeping.
«Oh, fuck you,» Zemo startled at the force in James’ voice, too stunned to resist as he was pushed roughly back. Bloodshot, tear-damp eyes faced him. «I can’t just– let go. You can’t turn off loving someone. And I swear to God, Zemo, I will kill you myself if you dont use that big fucking brain of yours to get your ass home.»
Bewilderment scattered Zemo’s thoughts as James’ nostrils flared and his fingers dug into his ribs. The helplessness swallowing him whole must have been visible, because the sharp lines of James’ anger dulled. «Just– ugh.» He gave Zemo a shake, like he was trying to force sense into him. «I was all alone. Until Sam, and then you, of all people.»
Zemo blinked, scrambling to collect himself. «I suppose I am a rather odd addition.» The snark was both belated and faint, but he had to grasp at whatever straws he could reach.
«Putting it mildly,» James huffed. «But– what I’m getting at is, I’m almost happy here.» He looked at Zemo like he held all the answers to the universe, like he was the singular key to it all.
It was heavy.
«And…» James paused, searching for words. «I don’t– I don’t know how to exist like that, so don’t make me face it alone. Don’t make me go on without you.»
He couldn’t help but wonder at the deeper meaning lingering in the mournful pleading swimming in James’ eyes. He could make a very educated guess, and it struck him, the insanity of being at the same crossroads as Steve Rogers. Further still that it was his second time here.
Zemo lowered his head, his thoughts warring. For James, he was fairly certain he would do anything. That had never been the problem, he was beginning to realize. The problem was that he was afraid to face what that meant.
Zemo sighed, worrying at his bottom lip for a moment. «I will try,» he said, barely above a whisper. «For you.»
«You will?» James was breathless with disbelief, which made Zemo close his eyes at the tragedy of such a concept. The world was ceaselessly cruel to the people he–
Zemo swallowed, a shudder rushing through him. To the people he loved.
«The tides will bring us back together. They always do.» He tried for a smile and failed to deduce whether he succeeded.
His eyes roamed over James’ face, the curves of his lips and the dark lashes framing his eyes. This beautiful creature paying mind to one as torn up as himself. Zemo wondered if he was staining James just by touching him. And it was so foolish, the fragile little surge in his heart as he soaked in the undivided attention he had never been particularly worthy of.
There was no hiding from it anymore. Zemo wanted James, and that in and of itself should be enough to send him running. It already had, once. His lips pulled into a pained grimace at the memory.
«What’s wrong?» James asked quietly.
«I am making a difficult decision,» he replied cryptically. Zemo always wanted what wasn’t his to have. But it was so strong now. The pull. It was intoxicating in how right it felt.
James, in a move that was startingly perceptive, gently cupped Zemo’s jaw. «Let me make it for you,» he murmured, his eyes shining.
Zemo curled his fingers where they rested loosely on James’ shoulders. «But what if–»
«Just this once,» James said, inching closer, slow enough that Zemo could pull away whenever he may want to. «Don’t think. We can worry about it tomorrow.»
«I–» Zemo started to protest, but it died in his throat. He blinked rapidly, swallowing against the anxiety building in his throat. Scarce time, scarce time. He didn’t want to go having never done this, however selfish it was. «You’ll be the death of me,» he breathed, his eyes already sliding shut as he grabbed the back of James’ neck.
Only when their lips met did Zemo realize the gravity of the other, deeper factor to his avoidance. Images of Walker erupted in his mind, making his breath catch and his fingers clench unwittingly, but he didn’t allow himself to pull back.
Instead, he leaned further into it. He drowned himself in James’ scent, the feel of his body, the brush of vibranium. Walker was not here, and he couldn’t have this. Zemo wouldn’t let him.
With a heart pounding half in love and half in terror, Zemo reminded himself over and over again that he was safe. He had control. And as reality continued to confirm his mantra, he slowly settled into believing it.
It was good, he realized, as James pulled a breathy, utterly uncomplicated moan out of him. It was like a little light flickering back to life in his darkened mind. Like it really could be good again.
James pulled away then, concern painted in the lines of his flushed face. «Hey, you,» he said, brushing Zemo’s hair from his face. Tender, so beyond tender. «Did something happen?»
What? Zemo frowned, only to freeze in place. He brought a hand to his face, and was surprised to find fresh tear tracks.
«Did I hurt you?» Fear dawned in James’ eyes, his grip faltering in his hesitation. «Shit, was it too soon? I’m so sorry, I–»
«James,» Zemo interrupted his downward spiral, giving him a small shake. «You didn’t hurt me.» He doubted James could, at this point.
He still looked unsure. «Then why are you crying?»
«Because it was nice,» Zemo confessed, with a shaky, cautious smile.
James blinked, his mouth dropping open for words that wouldn’t come. Tears welled up in his already glittering eyes as his expression shuttered, cracking under the weight of his tangled emotions. He leaned forward and buried his face against Zemo’s chest, right over his heart.
«Shh,» Zemo soothed, letting himself be squeezed in the embrace, finding security in the strength of the arms encasing his waist. He ran his hands through James’ hair, leaning down to rest his lips and nose against it.
«I love you.» James’ voice hitched as he held on a little tighter. «So much.»
Zemo’s cheek rested against James’ hair, his eyes leaking a steady flow of tears into the dark strands. His heart ached in his chest with words he was not sure how to say again.
«The likelihood of this mission becoming a catastrophe is beyond high.» Zemo sidestepped it all together, nevermind the instant pang of regret in his chest. «Don’t make me dig your body from the rubble.»
It was as close as he dared go. He could only hope James understood what it meant.
«I’m not going anywhere,» James murmured, his fingers splaying out between Zemo’s shoulder blades in a gesture so gentle it made him shiver.
Despite himself, Zemo almost smiled. «Promise?»
James shifted just enough to kiss Zemo’s tearstained chest. «Promise.»
***
Being in tactical gear again was a strange experience. He had expected something more along the lines of his usual clothing, but Sam had outfitted him, quite sternly.
The thin, unfathomably expensive bulletproof undershirt was slight overkill in his opinion. Sam happily informed him that he ‘didn’t give a fuck.’
After tugging his gloves on, the all-black ensemble was finally complete. Sam rounded the corner into the bedroom with a pistol in hand, but Zemo waved him off. «I already have one.»
Sam froze, his face blank. «What do you mean you have one?»
Bending down to rummage at the bottom of the closet, Zemo fished out his stolen gun from beneath a neglected pile of James’ most despised shirts. Who, when Zemo straightened back up, was standing next to Sam with exasperation in every line of his face.
«That’s–» Sam started, before pinching the bridge of his nose with a loud sigh. «You know what? Whatever. You need ammo.»
Tucking his prized loot into the holster on his belt, Zemo crossed the floor and moved to follow Sam into the living room, but a hand grabbing his arm stopped him.
«I will not apologize for arming myself,» Zemo said, looking up at a pair of stormy blue eyes. James had barely spoken a word all day, perpetually glued to Zemo’s side like a touchy, brooding wolf.
«You know I care fuck-all about the gun.» James tugged him closer, his voice low and tense. «Let me come with you.»
Zemo sighed. They had been over the plan three times. James and Sam would proceed with the original mission, which was more than likely to be hazardous, given the interference of Walker and his boss. Zemo served as the wild-card in this instance. As far as anyone knew, he was holing himself up indoors, keeping out of trouble.
Of course, if Walker’s benefactor was worth their reputation, they would know to suspect more from him. But with nothing to confirm or map out such a theory, there was really only so much they could do. Anyhow, Walker was an idiot. He wouldn’t be able to resist the scent of rabbit.
In other words, if they wanted to derail whatever Walker had planned, he needed to remain undetected for as long as possible. That meant going in alone. «Your job is to watch Samuel’s back, not mine. You are the ones in the line of fire.»
«And you aren’t?» James hissed.
«No.» Zemo tilted his head, like this was obvious. «I am behind the trigger.»
«But–» James stopped himself, closing his eyes around a wave of frustrated fear. «Zemo, if something happens again and I can’t get to you, I–»
A pang of sympathy thawed some of the ice that had grown over his heart as the hours ticked by. He cupped James’ cheek, his thumb resting near the corner of his eye. «I have an earpiece, and I am chipped like a pet dog. You won’t lose me.»
James leaned into his touch, his lips pulling down into a frown that was much more sad than it was angry. «This isn’t fair,» he said, like a last desperate plea for things to change. It would be nice to exist in a world where those worked.
«No,» Zemo agreed quietly. «But it is what we have.»
***
The smell of polluted seawater was the first thing that made an impression of Zemo as he approached the pot-hole James had forced open. It was better than the sewers, anyhow.
He had barely reached for the last rung of the ladder when vibranium fingers locked around his wrist and hoisted him up onto the street like he weighed nothing at all. Another steadying hand landed on his waist, which was wholly unnecessary, but very welcomed.
«Thank you, James,» he said, rather coyly.
«You’re welcome.» James patted him on the waist before letting go.
«I had to climb up all by myself,» Sam deadpanned. «Is the princess treatment an exclusive deal?»
«I certainly wouldn’t object if you were interested.» Zemo took a great deal of amusement in how Sam faltered, his brows drawing together as he tried to deduce whether Zemo was pulling his leg. He wasn’t, in the slightest. But he would let Captain America figure that out on his own.
James just sighed, looking exasperated and a little embarrassed at the attention. It was quite endearing, despite the less than ideal circumstances.
This was, after all, where they split up.
It seemed like it dawned on all three of them simultaneously. Sam’s expression hardened, and James’ eyes gained a reserved, steely quality. «Well, then.» Zemo folded his hands behind his back. «I suppose well wishes are in order.»
He didn’t get a chance to see what Sam’s reaction was to that, because before he knew it, he had an armful of James Barnes and a desperate kiss pressed to his lips. Zemo made a small noise of surprise, but returned it readily.
It didn’t last long. It couldn’t. Not with the ticking clock hanging over their heads. With tremendous effort, James stepped back, falling in line with Sam.
If Zemo needed a moment to recollect himself from the heartache wrenching in his chest, he made sure to hide it. A crackle in his ear confirmed that the comms were now online, and Sam leveled Zemo with a severe look.
«You stick to the plan, and you stay alive. Got it?» He made no secret of how much he detested the situation Zemo had forced him into. He was apologetic, but he didn’t regret it.
«Aye aye,» Zemo said, which got him a flat look. He couldn’t help a small smile, but it only worsened the trepidation in both men. «Come now, you two. Do not plan my funeral prematurely. We will reunite before dawn breaks.»
James’ frown deepened, and he remained mute. «Damn fucking right we will,» Sam said gravely.
Zemo was scared. There was no way around it. He was scared of sending them both into the fray, of seeing them hurt in the fall-out of what he was about to set off. Zemo had no idea how to operate a mission with this degree of personal, emotional interference, but he would have to make do. Trust in their abilities, as he was forcing them to trust in his.
«Watch over one another.» All jest was gone from his voice as he said it. He let himself have a final look at them both, but didn’t linger. He’d never leave if he lingered. Zemo turned on his heel, and disappeared down toward the pier.
James and Sam were infiltrating the warehouse through the construction site hugging its south side, meaning that Zemo needed to make his own way in. It wasn’t a difficult task. Blueprints of the building revealed a system of old ventilation shafts, too small for Walker to consider, and just big enough for Zemo to fit through.
And rig, of course. Empty bottles of drain cleaner and bleach rattled softly inside his backpack. He would have to warn Sam and James about that, once the time came. Permission versus forgiveness.
He kept a sharp ear out as he blended seamlessly with the shadows. Only the gentle lapping waves beneath him kept him company. He had jumped down onto a wooden walkway, which kept him out of sight from ground level, but also sacrificed any notion of the high ground. All he could see when looking up was the starless sky, and the tip of a tall crane.
The sound of an engine had Zemo flattening himself against the wall with a firm grip around the hilt of his knife. Forcing his breathing to slow, he honed in on the specifics. Motorcycle, just the one. One person, two at the very most. The corner it cut sounded too sharp to support any sort of side-wagon.
Zemo’s fingers flexed around the knife-handle as the motorcycle slowed to a crawl right above him. There was nothing on this particular stretch. The entrance points - in either direction - were about a block away. Had he been seen? That didn’t make any sense.
The bike stood still, its engine rumbling into the quiet night. Zemo had no way of knowing who was on it, short of blowing his cover. That came at a catastrophic risk, one he couldn’t justify. He could hardly keep Walker occupied if he was already raped and murdered. Zemo needed his leverage.
«South side?» came that familiar, grating voice. Zemo’s eye twitched with the force of the hatred crashing into him. «Got it. No, for the last time, I haven’t been seen.»
The engine went silent, and Zemo held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He could only hope Walker didn’t hear it somehow. Staring down at the dark water just feet away from him, Zemo said a silent prayer. He did not fancy himself a swim at the moment.
«I know what the fucking objective is,» Walker snapped, his footsteps drawing nearer to the edge of the pier. «What, you think I’ll run off to Brooklyn just to settle a personal score? I have a job to do, unlike you. I’ll sort my business out afterwards.»
Zemo closed his eyes against the cold shudder trying to force its way through his body. Walker couldn’t be more than 10 feet away.
Footsteps drew nearer. Zemo didn’t dare move to shrink further down. The scrape of fabric would be a beacon right at his location. Why was he lingering? What was he waiting for?
«Fine. Any luck on their comms?» Walker asked, and let out a displeased huff a moment later. «Well, let me know when you–»
A loud crash in the direction of the south entrance nearly startled Zemo out of his mind. His hand flew to his mouth to muffle the sharp breath that burst out of him. Walker whipped around, his shoes scraping over the ground and sending pebbles scattering over Zemo’s shoulders.
«I’ve gotta move. This place is too exposed,» Walker said eventually, his voice low and focused. Then, finally, his footsteps began to retreat. Only when utter silence had blanketed him for a solid five minutes did Zemo risk pulling himself up over the edge, tapping his comm to spur it to life.
«Boys,» Zemo greeted quietly. «Walker has arrived. He is headed for the same entrance as you.»
«Affirmative.» Sam sounded slightly hushed, and the acoustics spoke of an indoor environment.
«They haven’t breached our comms yet, and he seems to believe that I am in Brooklyn.» He unlatched the case strapped to the motorcycle’s side, before leaning over and cutting the brake line. Foul smelling liquid gushed to the ground.
«How do you know?» James was static-y in his ear as Zemo hurried toward his goal.
«Thinking he was alone made him very forthcoming.» He rounded a corner, nearly slipping on the slimy wood planks, and finally found the stairs leading up to the ventilation cover. It would be a bit of a climb, he realized. Nothing he couldn’t do.
Crouching by the wall, Zemo made quick work of popping the stolen case open. An empty slot for a fire-arm greeted him, but it was too weighty to contain nothing. Pulling out the foam layer, Zemo was faced with a seemingly empty compartment. «Cute,» he mused, wedging his knife beneath the panel. It popped up easily enough.
Inside was a phone, a stack of photographs covered by thin packing paper, and a taser. Zemo tilted his head at the odd familiarity of it, before turning on the phone. It had nothing on it, save a single number in its call-history. Zemo didn’t recognize the area code, but something told him to pocket it. He slipped it beneath the bulletproof shirt.
The taser gave him pause. It was a generic model, he must have seen it somewhere. With that, he bypassed it. Tearing the paper from the photos, he held them close to his face, squinting at the first one to make out what it captured.
A strangled gasp tore out of him. He dropped the picture like it had burned him.
He recognized that building. The graffiti on the walls. And he recognized the ruined body splayed out on the ground. Zemo bent over at the waist, clutching his stomach as he fought against rolling nausea.
«-mo? Zemo!»
«Ah–» Zemo forced his voice to comply, forced himself away from the dizziness rampaging through his vision. This was not the time. He had to focus. «False alarm. I’m heading in. I will be in touch momentarily.»
The protests were already starting, but Zemo tapped his comm off before he heard any of it. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, and with his eyes trained firmly at the sky, he shoved the pictures into the inner-pocket that contained the phone.
His mind settled into a gradual mirage of cold stillness as he let himself be numbed down. Remember , he told himself, blinking at the vague unreality of his surroundings, it is all in your head .
He got to work removing the ventilation cover, setting it down against the side of the building. Just as he was about to hoist himself up, his eyes caught on the taser with renewed clarity.
No doubt its prongs would match quite neatly with the fading scars on his back. Zemo scooped it up, and shoved it into a free pouch on his belt.
Resecuring the cover from the inside proved exceedingly difficult. Once it was done, Zemo only had a sliver of space to turn back around, his body a whisper away from dragging against the walls with each movement. To call it claustrophobic would be an understatement.
Luckily for his sanity, he knew exactly where he was going, having spent hours perfectly memorizing the map. All that was left now was to plant his little surprises before he got to the control room.
Sam would have to forgive him for his illegal shopping adventures. And he supposed James would have to forgive him for the mysterious disappearance of his cleaning supplies.
Wedging his arm behind his back, Zemo fished what looked like a thick, smart-phone sized rectangle from his backpack. The little light blinked red, indicating its deactivation. A portable safe by intention. Remote-activated latch.
A further 10 of the packages were spaced strategically around the ventilation system before Zemo finally reached his destination. A quick scan of the room revealed it to be predictably empty. There was no strategic value to the control room which oversaw the air conditioning. Not when Sam and James were on the opposite side of the building, with control rooms much more relevant to the task at hand.
Zemo sat down, grimacing at the flurry of dust. He’d had the foresight to put on his gasmask already, at the very least.
Speaking of. Zemo found his boys on the cameras, seeing them relatively near each other, making steady progress through the building. Zemo kept them in sight as he flipped through the other cameras in search of his target.
Ah. There he was. And much to Zemo’s annoyance, he had a small squad with him. It made his job of preferably not murdering anyone with mustard gas much more tedious.
He tapped his comm. «You have company, my darlings.»
A spark of amusement hit him at how Sam failed to supress a startle. «How many?» he asked, collecting himself.
Zemo stared at Walker’s figure for any indication that he could hear them, but nothing gave. Good. «Walker, and 8 other assailants as far as I can see. They are in my part of the building heading toward the central control room, presumably to outflank you.»
«Got it,» Sam grunted in the affirmative. Zemo watched as he flashed some elaborate sign at James, who fell into step right away. A well oiled machine, those two.
«I will seperate Walker from the pack,» Zemo continued, fishing a thin remote from his breast pocket. «If you would be so kind as to wear the gas masks I’ve provided. Especially you, Samuel.»
They both paused, and James actually glared up at the nearest camera. «What?» he asked, his alarm quiet and hard.
«It should not reach you. I have blocked all ventilation to your half of the building.» He looked over the blinking red indicators. «But I would rather not gamble with either of your lives,» Zemo said, like he was discussing the weather. «Now, James. The clock ticks.»
«Jesus christ,» James groused, but he and Sam did as they were asked. He looked them over with a critical eye, and once he was satisfied they didn’t have a sliver of exposed skin, he nodded to himself.
«Whatever happens, don’t take that off,» he offered, conversationally.
«The hell did you do?» Sam was staring up at the camera too now, his eyes obscured by dark lenses.
«I may have accidentally mixed household bleach with an ammonia based drain cleaner.»
«You–» Sam sounded like his jaw was on the floor, and James had a particularly murderous set to his shoulders. «That is a war crime, Zemo!»
«You must appriciate the irony of your out-rage,» Zemo said with a faint chuckle.
«Okay, back up–»
«Enough,» James cut in, turning back down the hallway, back to the mission. «I’ll deal with you later, Zemo.»
«A promise, I hope?» he asked, in a honeyd tone he knew would grate on everyone’s nerves even further.
James tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. Zemo could all but hear him counting to ten. Then, he said, «Take Walker out, and comm us when you’re done.»
He smiled, just so. «See you then.» And with that, Zemo tapped his comm off again. It was time to set his plan in motion.
Walker and his group were close enough for a super soldier’s senses to catch his little call, but not so close as to leave Zemo with no time. It was a window that would close, rapidly.
Booting up the air-conditioning system was the first tell that something was afoot. The loud, industrial fans had Walker and company freezing, looking around like a monster might jump from the shadows.
And then they fell in line as Walker decided it was nothing. No one else was in the building, after all. Perhaps Captain America had fiddled with something in the central control room. It was so stupid a conclusion, and yet wholly predictable of someone so arrogant, so self-assured. A rush of power had Zemo smiling with wicked satisfaction.
He rose from his chair, and gently opened the door into the wider building. The hallway was barren, with internal windows on one wall and doors on the other. It led to a set of rickety metal stairs in one end while the other ended in a heavy door, through which the building widened out considerably. That way led to Sam and James, and it was the way Walker would come.
Zemo cleared his throat, and lifted his mask just enough to reveal his mouth. After a short pause, he began to whistle.
A long, clear note, followed by a shorter, lower one. The shrill sound split the quiet air, and filled Zemo with bottomless adreneline for each second that passed by. As the last note finished and his airways and skin were once again protected, Zemo pressed the remote.
Ducking into the control room again, Zemo was met with exactly what he wanted to see. Walker had turned back, a look of wild paranoia on his face, heading right into the clutches of the trap. Judging by the hallway he was in, he was breathing poison at this very moment.
At that, Zemo turned the camera screens off, and shut the door tightly as he left the room.
The air in the hallway looked no different than before, and yet he was keenly aware of how the weight of it had shifted. As he hurried down the spiral staircase, Zemo wondered what his skin would look like if it were exposed.
Walker would certainly be feeling it soon, serum or not.
He got down onto the main floor, large and open, filled with rows and rows of empty shipping containers. The moon peeked out beneath heavy clouds through the windows spaced evenly across the ceiling, bathing the area in a haunting dimness.
It was strangely beautiful, he thought, as he rounded a container. There was a half-broken crate to use as a step-stool, sitting idle in the deep shadows.
No sooner had Zemo heaved himself onto the container, did a shadow pass by the hallway windows. He watched it, how a gloved hand slapped against the glass as the figure staggered. Flicking his gaze up at the vents lining the walls by the ceiling, Zemo’s lips twitched upwards at the corners.
It was a bit draftier down here, but not enough. Zemo clutched the last black box in his hand, and ducked behind the container stacked ontop of his current perch.
The upstairs door banged open, and the space filled with the sound of ragged breathing and heavy footsteps crashing into metal. «Zemo,» he ground out, a demonic gurgle of his usual voice. «I know you’re in here.»
Walker prowled the floor like a wounded tiger, and Zemo watched, silent, as he made his way through the maze of shipping containers. He needed him to pass just beneath him, and he needed to time it perfectly. Even wounded, Walker could overpower him in a heartbeat. It didn’t take a passable intellect to realize that the game was over as soon as Zemo’s mask was off.
The bang of a body hitting metal sounded no more than 15 feet away. Zemo tensed in preparation, his eyes glued on the figure making its way toward him. This close, Zemo could see the blistering redness on Walker’s exposed neck and lower face. Darkness around his nostril indicated bleeding. Any regular person would be on death’s door by now, and Zemo suspected the rapid healing was becoming dangerously over-extended.
Zemo needed to remove himself as soon as possible. His clothing was tough, but he hardly wanted to wait to find out how tough, exactly.
Closer, closer. Zemo’s finger hovered just over the remote button. Walker grunted, then coughed. The spatter of liquid on the ground would be a foreboding sound to anyone else, but to Zemo, it was beautiful.
A few more seconds, and Walker was exactly where Zemo wanted him. Had the circumstances been ordinary, he would have heard the soft whirring of the box opening, would have sensed the movement of Zemo’s arm drawing back.
The black box launched across the walkway, hitting its target square in the side of the head. Walker reared back with an agonized scream as liquid splashed across his front, into his mouth and eyes. Zemo drew his silencer-fitted gun in the space between seconds, and by the next time he blinked, a bullet was lodged deep in Walker’s shoulder.
«We meet again,» Zemo said, not lowering his arm. «I must say, you look detestable.» An itch was building on Zemo’s wrist. That didn’t bode well.
Walker could only manage another tortured roar as he ran blindly forward, slamming into the side of the container with enough force that Zemo staggered. His arms shot out to balance himself, but he realized as it was happening that it was too late. He did the only thing he could, and pushed off the ledge, sailing over Walker’s head and landing hard on the concrete behind him.
Zemo didn’t wait. Before he had even fully registered his surroundings, he took off like hell itself was on his heels.
The metaphor wasn’t far off. The beast behind him sounded every bit like a demon with his wet, gorey breaths, and the cacophony of violent noise in his wake.
His gun was in his hand like it was fused with his skin. The adrenaline roaring in his ear let him draw, aim, and blow the lock off the door without losing an ounce of speed. He crashed against the heavy metal hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs, but it flung open, careening him out onto the street. Zemo nearly lost his balance, scrambling back to his feet in a blind panic.
Walker followed him a moment later, much closer than Zemo had anticipated. He persisted like a cockroach, and it was grating on Zemo’s very limited patience. In a flash decision, he whirled around, firing three bullets at his pursuer. Two hit him in the chest, but the suit mostly deflected them. The last would have gone through his neck, but Walker wrenched himself sideways just in time, suffering only a graze.
Zemo’s back collided with the ground a moment later, having lost what remained of his dwindling lead to a doomed effort. The man that loomed above him was nearly unrecognizable. One side of his face was more meat than skin, and his eyes shook ceaselessly, like he had lost all control of them. Thick, puss-filled blood dribbled down his jaw and splattered onto Zemo’s mask as Walker panted.
His gun clattered to the ground way out of reach, a lost cause. Zemo struggled to keep his hands free, managing to slap himself in the ear to activate his comm before Walker caught hold of his wrist and slammed it into the ground.
«Let’s–» he coughed, blood spotting the lenses of Zemo’s glasses. The advanced healing wasn’t acting fast enough to repair the internal damage, it seemed. «Let’s see how brave you are without that mask.»
«Zemo?» Someone said over the comm. Through the adrenaline haze, he couldn’t discern who. Anyhow, it didn’t matter. Zemo felt the square edge of the taser digging into his hip and got his legs into position.
The shaking fingers hooking underneath the edge of his mask was his signal to move. Like a lightning strike, Zemo ripped the taser free with his remaining hand and fired it point-blank into Walker’s exposed neck. The man seized, his mouth open in soundless agony, and Zemo wasted no time. His feet pushed with all their might against Walker’s stomach, launching him off.
A startling breath of fresh air was the last thing Zemo wanted in that moment. He flipped around to his hands and knees, staring with cold disappointment at the gas mask clutched in Walker’s hands.
Walker had touched his bare skin. Zemo shot a glance at the pier, at the moonlit waves. One of them was dying tonight. That was quite close to inevitable, judging by the convulsing heaving of Walker’s chest. Zemo had to ensure he wasn’t dragged down alongside him.
«How does it feel to be me?» Zemo asked, rising to his feet as Walker struggled to get his limbs to cooperate with him. «Helpless, ravaged,» He took half a step closer, hyper-aware of the crazed eyes tracking him. Zemo needed the chase to continue just a little longer. «And all alone, hm? Who in the world cares for you, John?»
Look at me , he said with his body. Look how appealing I am. Look at the rabbit with too much confidence it has won.
It worked. He felt a thrill of involuntary fear as Walker sprung to his feet. At the last possible second, Zemo pivoted, pushing all of his forward momentum into his mad sprint for the pier. Thundering footsteps were right at his heels and gaining fast. Just not fast enough.
Wait! A faint voice sounded in his ears. Wait for me! But it was too late. All sound cut out as a vicious body crashed into his own, fingers clawing into his flesh and hooking on as they plummeted into the icy December ocean.
The shock of cold seized Zemo’s body, his muscles going rigid as he just barely managed to avoid inhaling a lungful of water. A heavy weight dragged him down, the changing pressure finally kicking his survival instincts back into gear. Zemo kicked violently, uselessly.
Walker climbed up his body until they were face to face, blood swirling in the water around them from the rupturing blisters all over his exposed face. Zemo tried to push away from the hands gripping his head, to no avail.
The hard pressure of cold, mangled lips pressed against Zemo’s own. Against all his rationale, a watery scream was ripped from him, releasing precious air in a flurry of bubbles as Zemo thrashed against his restraints.
This wasn’t about pleasure. It wasn’t about sadism or sexual gratification at all. This was a man using the only weapon he knew for a fact would regain his power.
Electric panic had Zemo attempt another futile retreat as an assaulting grip clamped down between his legs. There was too much happening all at once, his lungs were in agony, he couldn’t get away from the invasion of his mouth, and fabric was ripping across his–
Zemo started to grow more and more limp as black spots danced across his vision. The pressure in his chest was going to force him to inhale water any moment now. Perhaps it would be better to just accept it. Walker was dying with him. His job here was done.
A little voice in the back of his mind cried out in protest. No, it said. You made a promise. You have to try. For him.
With fumbling fingers, Zemo got a hold of the knife strapped to his thigh. He forced his leaden eyelids back open and was met with Walker’s own crazed gaze staring back at him, alert but steadily fading. His hand was still groping him, the grip bruising, but Zemo forced the sensation from his mind.
With his last fading remnants of strength, he drove the knife into the first fleshy surface he could find. The blade pierced the fabric of Walker’s suit, slipping past the impact resistant weaving until it buried itself into his ribcage. Blood flooded into the water as Zemo finally managed to kick himself free and frantically made for the surface.
The rush of air re-entering his body was agony, but Zemo couldn’t slow down. He barely allowed himself room to cough up the water in his throat between his desperate gasps for air.
His lip trembled uncontrollably, even as his body gradually started filling with numbing warmth. That, he dimly noted, was very bad. He needed to get back on land. Immediately.
Getting his iron limbs to cooperate was a battle all on its own, but he forced himself forward with gritted - clattering - teeth. The wooden pier was low enough that he should be able to pull himself up if he just put in enough effort.
Lifting his arms and wedging his elbows over the edge, Zemo took a deep breath, and pulled. He kicked his legs for more momentum as he hauled himself upward, the strain making him tremble severely enough that for a gut-wrenching moment, he was certain he would fall back down.
But his chest made it over the edge. Zemo collapsed onto it, allowing himself a meager break despite his legs still being submerged below the knee.
He rested his forehead against the slimy wood, uncaring as his hair dripped icy droplets down his neck, onto his eyelids. He just needed to breathe, just for a moment, he–
«Zemo!» A voice rang out, echoing through the night air. «Where are you?»
James? «I’m–» he tried to shout back, but his voice was ruined beyond recognition. Still, he tried again. «I’m here!»
With renewed energy, he resumed his painful efforts of getting out of the water. It was easier now that his body weight was increasingly supported by the structure beneath him. The incoming sound of footsteps was invigorating, hypnotizing.
«James,» Zemo wheezed out once the footsteps were so near he knew safety was only a few seconds away. A familiar figure leapt onto the wooden walkway, and Zemo got a blurry visual of a gloved hand reaching toward him.
«Come here,» James said, almost as breathless as Zemo himself.
Their fingertips had just barely grazed when an iron grip locked around Zemo’s ankles. A strangled gasp was all he managed before he was being ripped backwards, his head slamming into the edge of the planks and reducing his world to a ringing blur.
Hitting the water was like slamming into concrete. It was only pure instinct that kept him from releasing air as he spun, trapped in a whirlpool of bubbles and movement. Up and down, left and right – it all ceased to exist as Zemo fought against his darkening vision.
Everything seemed tinted red, until Zemo realized it wasn’t a perception issue. His head. It was…
Something clicked far in the recesses of his mind. Like an electric shock to the heart, Zemo stopped, and then burst back to life with a vengance. He kicked violently, dislodging one of Walker’s hands just as they reached the sea floor. It was littered with mechanical waste, both from the warehouse and from the boats that docked there. Zemo looked around wildly for options.
Hands clawed up his body, yanking him down, into the jaws of the beast. There was no time to decide, he could only hope fate was on his side. Walker shoved him down onto the sea bed just as his fingers curled around rough steel.
The enraged eyes that met Zemo’s own were barely recognizable as human anymore. Bloodshot and hazy, like they could hardly see at all, and so utterly consumed with hatred there was hardly any life left in them.
Beyond that, in the cracks Walker would never have let show had he been in his right mind, was fear. Terror. An animal that knew it had lost, yet refused to stop fighting.
Zemo wondered if he mirrored that look. He had done this, after all. Broken him, ripped him apart, tortured him. Perhaps that should spark fear, but Zemo was not blind to his capabilities. He could play house all he wanted – it could not change his apathy toward bloodshed. Especially from men who struck first.
Whatever the reasoning, it didn’t matter now, he supposed. Not when James was up there. James, whom he was still protecting. Whom he would protect for as long as he lived, because he owed him that and so much more. Leaving seemed to be the only thing Zemo was truly good for, even when he had tried to stay. As his body screamed for air that wouldn’t come, Zemo knew that ship had sailed.
He was not afraid. Only regretful.
The metal rod he had grasped was broken, its jagged edge sharpened from the endless scraping against the rough sea floor. Zemo flattened his palm on its blunt edge, and with the last embers of his dying strength, he struck.
Just as a paralyzing explosion ripped through the water. Zemo’s mouth dropped open in a silent scream, a storm of bubbles obscuring his vision as all the air in his body was knocked out of him by a sledgehammer crushing his chest.
Reflex took over and Zemo flailed frantically, staring up at the far away surface with eyes that felt near to bursting. A heavy weight was pinning him down, rendering him unable to move, unable to fight.
James was up there, he thought, as his limbs grew heavier, his brain foggier. Sam was too. Zemo wanted to– he wanted to…
Even the agony in his chest was starting to fade. The tide rocked him and the deadweight ontop of him gently from side to side, like it was beckoning him to sleep. But he didn’t…
A weak flutter of anguish rushed through him. Zemo didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to die here. He just wanted to go home.
How cruel, to have finally found such a place again right as the world was slipping through his fingers.
It wasn’t so cold anymore. Everything was quiet, like a soft blanket had enveloped him. He blinked slowly, his gaze fixed on the dim light of the moon, far out of reach.
It glinted in the murky darkness. Zemo watched it with an absent sort of observation. The light seemed to be reaching for him, shining tendrils of gold weaving through the water toward him. It was beautiful.
His fingers twitched, before he managed to bend his elbow just so. Perhaps it was his family reaching for him. The thought warmed him, even as a foreboding chill was starting to reach the very depths of his body.
He was lighter, all of a sudden. Zemo couldn’t see anything anymore. Water rushed past his ears, but it was far away. Too dim to interpret.
The pressure in his head was growing lighter by the second. Zemo wrestled with himself for what felt like an endless moment before finally prying his eyes open. Gold strands wrapped around his middle, pulling him up.
A faint furrow developed between his brows. He hadn’t expected death to be so literal. Or so… sensing. What–
A shock of cold air pounced on Zemo’s skin as he was broken out of the water. His body was catching on before his brain, sending blaring signals in an attempt to get him to– to…
The agony was paralyzing. Zemo hung limply, his mouth agape and useless, unable to get anything past the blockade in his throat and lungs.
«Breathe, Zemo!» A frantic voice shouted right by his ear. «Come on, you can do it.»
James. It was James. Water gushed from the corners of Zemo’s mouth, but it wasn’t enough. Not before a burst of force hit his diaphragm. With a convulsing heave, Zemo retched, all the while trying to force down gulps of air into his lungs between the gagging.
«There you go,» James encouraged him, swimming with one arm while the other clutched Zemo’s waist in a vice grip. «Keep going, baby, we’re almost there. Keep breathing.»
It was easier said than done, but as his deprived brain finally had fuel again, terror was quick to take root. «Walker,» he forced out, his voice abused almost beyond recognition.
James squeezed him a little tighter. «He’s dead. You got him.»
A sigh of pure relief left Zemo as the confirmation washed over him. «You’re safe.»
The familiar high-pitched sound of Sam’s wings reached them just as they reached the pier. Zemo gasped with pain as he was hoisted into the air by James, and then grabbed beneath the arms by Sam, who lifted him onto the planks. Placed in a seated position with his back against the stone wall, Zemo blinked seawater from his tired eyes.
Sam’s blurry figure came into focus. He was on his knees, undoing the zipper of Zemo’s uniform to reveal the undershirt. Something small and metal clattered onto the planks, making his whole body slump in relief. «It worked,» he said, like he was in pain. «Thank God it worked.»
«You didn’t know for certain?» Zemo rasped. He couldn’t help himself.
A dry, blessedly warm jacket was draped over his shoulders, accompanied by the scent of Sam’s cologne. «Shut the fuck up, you unbearable piece of shit.»
His retort died quickly and mercifully on his tongue when Sam caught him in a desperate embrace. Zemo’s eyes fluttered shut as he lost himself in the familiar warmth.
«Sam,» James said, with naked pleading in his voice.
It broke through the little bubble they’d made. Sam drew back with a final tight-lipped look at Zemo, giving the back of his neck a reassuring squeeze. «I’ll call ahead to the hospital,» he said to James, who had dragged himself back onto the pier.
Perhaps Sam could tell just how badly James needed a moment alone, because he took to the skies not a second later despite the reluctance in the tense line of his shoulders. Zemo was under no illusion that he’d heard the last from him.
A flash of gold distracted him, turning his gaze from the sky just as vibranium brushed against his skin. «You are quite beautiful like this,» Zemo murmured. «Like an oil painting.»
James’s skin was ghostly pale in the sparse moonlight, glistening with water droplets that tumbled from his hair that lay in disarray across his forehead. His eyes were gray, almost reflective, as they flitted all over Zemo’s face. The only point of color was the red of his lips and ears..
Beautiful wasn’t strong enough a word, Zemo decided. James only frowned, tears welling up in his eyes, before Zemo found himself tugged into an even fiercer hug than before. James all but straddled his legs, clinging to Zemo like he had spent a century waiting, searching, for this exact moment.
His ribs screamed in protest, but he paid it no mind. «I’m never letting you go,» James whispered harshly against Zemo’s sodden shoulder.
«Are you my new jailor?» Zemo smiled, a fleeting thing. Exhaustion was begging him to sleep.
«If I have to be,» James said back, and it sounded like he very well meant it.
A rush of affection warmed his frozen limbs even more than the ridiculous body heat currently blanketing him, and Zemo managed to loop his arms around James’ waist. Here, in his arms, was a man whose delicate heart couldn’t ever be described in words that would do it justice. Having such a divine, broken thing handed to him had scared him half to death. But he wasn’t afraid of drowning anymore.
«James,» Zemo murmured, pushing against the embrace until he was reluctantly allowed to lean back. He didn’t go far. Only enough to close the distance again. James tasted like salt, desperation, and home, and it was everything Zemo needed it to be.
There was a possessive edge to the hand that buried itself in Zemo’s hair, and it sent shivers through his body as he responded with equal fervor. «James,» he said again, his soft breaths ghosting over James’ lips. «I am a coward.»
«What?» James leaned back like he had to make sure it was Zemo he was dealing with. He certainly hoped so. If James went around kissing people who were not him, he would quickly find himself returned to prison.
Zemo tried to sit up more straight, only to cause an immediate flare of pain in his chest. He couldn’t quite hide his wince, but he cut James off before he could derail the subject. «I haven’t been forthcoming with you, and–» he stopped, his throat tightening.
Quite the little hypocrite, wasn’t he? All his agonizing over utilizing scarce time properly, only to very nearly die without confronting the one truth that loomed above all else.
«You kept me alive. You have been doing that for a long while now.» He ducked his head to hide from the anxious scrutiny boring into him. «And that is only possible because I love you, James.»
The words all left him in one breath, and the folllwing silence kept him from drawing another.
Another second ticked by, before the press of fingers beneath his chin tilted his head back. James was smiling, his eyes crinkling softly in the corners in a way that Zemo’s heart stop. «Took you long enough,» he said, with an impossible softness.
Zemo’s own smile was wry, despite how his heart sang. «I suppose I needed a rather intense push.»
James shook his head. «No.» It was a simple word, but the weight and scope of it spoke for itself. «Figuring it out, that’s all yours. No one can take that from you.»
«Once in a blue moon, James–» Zemo said, his eyes beginning to droop. He was fairly certain that if the hold beneath his chin disappeared, his head would loll like a ragdoll. «–You display wisdom befitting a man your age.»
«Wow.» James snorted. Concern bled into the affection teeming in his eyes. «Come on. Let’s get you back to the car. I think you’ve bruised your ribs.»
With gentle hands and hushed apologies as pain persisted anyway, Zemo was picked up and cradled against a strong chest. With his cheek pressed a little ways above James’ heart, Zemo fought a losing battle against his leaden eyelids. The rhytmic motion of footsteps across pavement were not helping matters.
«Go to sleep, Zemo,» James said, after a moment of fondly watching the struggle unfold. «I love you too.»
Zemo had spent the better part of a decade convinced that no amount of love could ever change the emptiness permeating him. The loss was too great. The injuries were too many. But perhaps that didn’t have to be true anymore.
To be rid of it completely was a utopian mirage. Walker seeing justice did not heal the gaping wounds he had left behind. Zemo suspected it never would close - not entirely. It was cruel to ask himself to heal something which no person could ever conceivably heal.
But he could learn to keep it calm. He could find a way to reduce the pain it produced to levels that wouldn’t hinder him. It was in his power to be well again, eventually. One day.
He had to believe that. What else was there?
Besides, he had work to do. He was certain some of the photographs remained salvageable, and the phone sim card could be scraped for data. Zemo had more than enough material for a lovely trial-by-media now. Walker’s memory would be as tarnished as his corpse, lying forgotten in the bottom of a dirty harbor.
A small smile twitched at the corners of his lips, and before long. he was drifting off into a dreamless and exhausted sleep.
***
The weeks went by since the mysterious gas leak at the old warehouse. After explaining the situation to King T’challa, which Zemo had been utterly reluctant to do, any trace of his relation to his chemistry experiment had been wiped. There weren’t many to begin with, but pinning it squarely on Walker helped things along. He was too dead to defend himself, anyhow.
The king hadn’t been very pleased at first, but Zemo doubted he’d forget how his flawless composure faltered as he read the medical report. He had rejected the offer of viewing the photographs with a leaden voice.
He was under no illusion that the king had any sort of affection toward him. He was simply acting on principle. Morality. And between the two of them, T’challa was certainly the superior actor in that arena. The most he could gleam was an extremely reserved respect for the fact that he had done what needed to be done.
Walker’s body had yet to be found, though in Zemo’s own opinion, his benefactor had probably fished him out of the sea by now. Their future actions should be interesting to follow, certainly. He was waiting for them to make the first move before revealing his own hand.
Zemo weaved through the crowd, keeping his arms tucked tightly against his body. He had taken to see a therapist after Sam practically hounded him to their office. They were amiable enough, though staring at the little moving light for an hour every week to dredge up memories was proving exhausting. To put it mildly.
It gets worse before it gets better , they had assured him. It had better turn around soon. Should he continue to sleep on the floor next to James, his back would give up on him.
He startled as a hard shoulder collided with his chest. Zemo whirled around in search of whoever it was, the point of contact burning on his skin, but all he saw was the retreating back of a woman with long, copper hair. His hands instinctively went to his pockets, but his belongings were all accounted for. Except–
A piece of paper. He pulled it out and folded it open with a confused frown on his face.
Good riddance , was all it read. Zemo looked back at where the woman had last been, but she was gone.
Carefully, he folded the paper back up, and placed it securely in his wallet. Good riddance, indeed. He smiled wistfully, and continued his journey home.