Chapter Text
“Is this what I think it is?”, Zemo asked.
He hadn't expected the girl to answer him, but from the way that Karli’s breathing hitched, Zemo knew that his suspicions had been right.
When he’d shot her, he’d been aiming for the head with the intention to put her down as quickly and cleanly as possible. That was the most effective way to kill a super soldier. Zemo wasn't a sadist and he didn't enjoy the suffering of others- unless they were truly worthy of punishment. Drowning Karpov upside down in a sink had been the exception, rather than the rule. Karli may be a supremacist, but she wasn't Karpov. She deserved death, but not pain. Unfortunately, the girl had dodged and the bullet caught her in the stomach. That was a bad way to go, but Zemo had every intention of finishing the job quickly.
The super soldier was slumped behind a table she’d overturned, but as Zemo approached with his gun raised, something caught his attention. Scattered at his feet was a handful of glass vials, which he knew contained the serum.
“No, don’t!”, Karli protested, but Zemo was already crushing them underfoot. As the glass shattered and azure blue spilled onto the dirty tiles, Zemo tasted victory in the destruction. He was so focused on the task that he barely registered one of Karli's allies bursting into the room.
The man moved with inhuman speed, pulling Karli to her feet before Zemo could stop him. But as he did so, Zemo caught sight of the bloodsoaked pouch at her hip and the blue glint of more vials inside. A miscalculation, on his part. He should have ensured that the target was neutralized before destroying the serum. It had been a long time since he’d done this, and clearly he was out of practice. He would not make the same mistake again.
That was his last thought before something heavy hit him in the head and everything went black.
*
He woke up lying on the floor with James Barnes’s icy blue eyes staring down at him. The man was crouched over him, and Zemo found his presence strangely comforting. Perhaps he should have found it unsettling, because the last time they’d been in such close proximity, James had wrapped his vibranium fingers around his throat and gripped him in a choke hold. A threat, but more than that too. Zemo had sensed the barely restrained strength in the super soldier’s grip, and had the visceral feeling that James was actively fighting his desire to…he wasn’t sure. And it was a rare thing for Zemo to be unable to read someone’s intentions. Perhaps because James seemed so conflicted. As if he were at odds with himself, being pulled in different directions. Unable to stay on the course that he knew he should keep.
The emotions that had played across James’s face as he held Zemo in that moment were fascinating. Anger of course, but also a large amount of fear. James was afraid of him, or perhaps what he feared that Zemo could bring out in him. It had been unexpectedly thrilling, and had made quite the start to their little adventure. The incident had shown Zemo that James was highly reactive, an unstable element. But he’d proved malleable when it came to Zemo’s suggestion that he disguise himself as the Winter Soldier. He hadn’t so much as protested when Zemo showed him the outfit he had prepared for him. Unlike Sam, who had provided a running commentary the whole time.
“So you just happened to have these clothes laying around?”, Sam had asked as he held up the red suit jacket.
“I find it useful to be prepared,” Zemo replied. Smiling Tiger’s suit belonged to the man himself, whom Zemo had taken a flight with some years ago. And following the way in which they had decided to pass the long flight, the man had left the suit with him to be dry cleaned.
“Uh-huh,” Sam said, completely unconvinced. “And you just happened to know Bucky’s exact measurements?”
Zemo saw James look up in surprise at the mention of his name. Irritation, confusion. Like someone half-waking from a dream. Followed by a deliberate blankness, as if he was chastising himself for giving so much away. "Hey, I told you don't call me Bucky." Sam just rolled his eyes and ignored him.
“To answer your question Samuel, it was merely an educated guess. Based on outdated measurements."
Of course, Zemo had commissioned it for him when they had begun corresponding via letter in preparation for Zemo’s escape. He had suspected that James missed being the soldier, and what better way to ease him into that role again than to provide him with the appropriate attire? From the way that James was running his hand over the custom leather, Zemo saw that he had been right. This was something that James missed. Perhaps something which he still needed .
Sam tutted at Zemo and shrugged on the suit jacket. “Yeah, this is not my thing.”
Zemo smiled. “Perfect. Then it will make you look less like Sam Wilson.”
James shrugged off his jacket and removed his gloves. When he pulled his hoodie over his head, Zemo couldn’t help staring at the metal of his prosthetic arm. The vibranium moved fluidly with his powerful physique, and Zemo imagined that were James to remove his t-shirt, the black and gold would stand in sharp contrast to his skin.
James caught his eye, and Zemo looked away quickly. He hadn’t intended to show James such unguarded interest, for fear that it would distract him from their objective. What Zemo wanted first and foremost, was to complete their mission. And for that, he needed the Winter Soldier. Not an irate James Barnes who wasn’t sure how to respond to Zemo’s attraction. And it was present, Zemo admitted to himself He couldn't help it. James’s complexity fascinated him.
On his previous mission, he’d wanted to reach inside James and take him apart to discover how he worked. But all he’d wanted to know was whether James was a person, or merely the broken shell of one who would obey his handler’s commands. Zemo knew that trying to fit him into a binary had been reductive, but he still couldn’t bring himself to regret the choices he had made. He’d ended the Avengers, and so completed his mission. And if he wanted to complete this mission, he knew that he would need to treat James as a thing instead of a person once again.
It wasn’t until he’d seen James appear from the bathroom wearing the Winter Soldier’s outfit, that he realized just how fragile and conflicted he had been before. Zemo also realized in that moment that the disguise was as much a necessity for himself as it was for James. Without it, he didn’t think he’d be able to see past James’s humanity.
In the bar, James had made a beautifully lethal weapon. He’d thrown men from him like they were nothing, and had no hesitation about breaking them because of a single word from Zemo’s lips: attack. Such a powerful thing it was, playing a role.
In the present, Zemo touched his throbbing head and saw blood come away on his glove.
Whatever had hit him, it had been hard and his vision was blurry. He struggled to focus on James’s face, but his brow seemed to be even more furrowed than usual.
“Karli,” Zemo managed, his voice coming out as a rasp. “She’s getting away.”
“She's gone,” James replied. “You’ve been out a while- hey, don't move!”
Zemo had attempted to sit up and nearly collapsed with a groan.
“Walker hit you in the head with the shield. Sam thinks you’ve got a concussion.”
Zemo became aware of a pair of raised voices. He recognised John Walker arguing with Sam Wilson, but he couldn’t follow what they were saying. His attention was drawn to a sharp throbbing pain in his wrist, which he must have sustained when he fell.
He closed his eyes, and when he next woke up he was being carried in James’s arms. The man held him close to his chest in a bridal carry.
“Where are you taking me?”, Zemo slurred.
“Back to the apartment,” James answered. “Sam’s meeting us there.”
“No hospital?”
“Not unless we have to. I’m guessing you don’t want that either.”
“No.”
Despite his injuries, he felt safe with James. His wellbeing was the soldier’s mission now. Protect the target. Zemo closed his eyes again. James held him effortlessly, as if he weighed nothing at all. But what Zemo found strange was how gently he held him. That is, until he found himself dumped rather unceremoniously onto a couch.
“Shit. Sorry.” James looked guilty, his eyes traveling over Zemo’s form with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’ve been better,” Zemo said lightly. At least, his vision was no longer blurring.
“I’m gonna get some stuff from the bathroom,” James said. He returned moments later with a first aid kit and pulled on a pair of latex gloves.
“Try and keep your eyes open, okay? I’m gonna check the injury.”
Zemo nodded, and the movement sent pain cascading through his head.
“Hold still.”
This time James touched his neck, he was exceedingly gentle as his fingers examined the muscles and came up to gently cup his head. Despite the injury, the feeling of James' hand in his hair sent a wave of arousal running through him.
Zemo smirked. “Not going to choke me?”
James glared at him, his expression of concern disappearing. Still, he continued to carefully wipe away the blood from the side of Zemo’s head. “Couldn’t help saying it, huh?”
“I am sorry for provoking you,” Zemo admitted. “I just needed to understand what kind of man I was dealing with, for the sake of the mission.”
James huffed in disbelief. “For the mission. Right.”
“Believe what you like, James. It’s the truth.”
“You know, I think I preferred it when you were unconscious. ”
“Does that mean my injuries aren’t serious?”
James pulled back and looked him over. “Wound stopped bleeding pretty quick, and you won’t shut the hell up, so…yeah. Probably not serious.”
“Imagine my relief.”
“Hey,” James said sharply. “Knock it off. We don’t have time for your death wish, Zemo. Karli got away with the serum. We still got a mission to focus on.”
“Mm. Yes, of course.”
Zemo reached up to touch the side of his head, but then his fingers brushed James’s. Instead of recoiling, James kept still and Zemo found himself wrapping his fingers around the other man’s wrist.
James seemed confused by the geseture, but he didn’t withdraw from Zemo’s touch. The way that the man was staring back at him felt so charged with intensity that Zemo thought for a moment that maybe James was going to choke him afterall.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” Zemo said, by way of explanation.
“Yeah,” James said, his voice slightly husky. “No problem.”
Then his expression shifted again, and James pulled his hand back. But instead of moving away, he grabbed Zemo’s wrist and turned it so that his palm faced up.
“Your wrist is bleeding,” he said. “When did that happen?”
Zemo followed his gaze to the cut. The wound had clotted, but the blood had soaked through the cuff of his shirt. The only reason that neither of them had noticed was because the color of the fabric had disguised it.
“When I fell, presumably,”
James began carefully wiping away the blood. “It’s not deep, but it looks like there’s some glass in there.”
Zemo felt his heart sink. Glass? Why would there be glass, unless- no. It was unthinkable.
James got up, apparently not following the same thought process as Zemo. “I’ll go grab some tweezers.”
Zemo grabbed his hand, desperation overcoming him. “Wait. James. The serum.”
James frowned, still not following his meaning. “Yeah, Karli has it.”
“No, she dropped some of the vials when I was pursuing her. I smashed them, the serum was on the floor where I fell.”
“You think that-” James broke off, shaking his head. “No, that’s not how it works, Zemo.”
Zemo sat up, and he was alarmed that the movement caused no adverse effects. He had a slight headache, but other than that he felt fine. He should have counted himself lucky to not be seriously injured, but instead he couldn’t help but be alarmed.
“James,” he said again. “I’m being serious. We don’t know how the serum was administered. We assumed it was injected, yes? But what if all that is required is to introduce it into the bloodstream? Nagel bragged that his version of the serum was ‘optimized’. He called it subtle, and made a point of mentioning that it required no equipment to administer.”
“He just meant no bulky machines like they used on Steve,” James said dismissively. “And even if all that’s true, you’d need more than a few drops for it to work.”
“James, there was an entire pool of it on the floor,” Zemo insisted.
“If you’d had the serum, you’d know,” James said darkly. “Believe me.”
Zemo watched as he got up and walked over to the refrigerator. He returned shortly with a packet of frozen peas and handed them to Zemo.
“Here. Put this on your head. I’ll fix your hand.”
Zemo shook his head. “Thank you, but I don’t need it. My head no longer hurts.”
James stared at him, his eyes widening. “That’s- okay, yeah.That’s not normal.” He hesitated. “You’re telling the truth, right? Don’t lie to me about this, Zemo. If you do, I swear I'll-”
“James, look.” Zemo held out his wrist again. The tiny shards of bloody glass were no longer embedded in the wound. They had been pushed out, and were now clinging to the surface of his newly healed skin like dew on the underside of a leaf.
Zemo shook his wrist, and they both watched the fragments of glass fall to the floor like drops of rain.