#the missing title

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Five: Tumultuous Teachings

The Missing Title

Helmut Zemo x Reader

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Summary: Circling in on Karli's position, she's in your sights. With unexpected guests and differing morals, surely the plan will go accordingly... right? All it takes is a little Super Soldier Serum and a phone for the world to blow up.

Words: 15.5k

Warnings: Dark Humor, Sexual Content, Violence, Guns, Manipulation

Mentions of: Politics, Death, Extremist Beliefs, Lying,

A/N: Ahhh, idk why I've fallen back in love with this, but I'm just... so invested in trying to get more of the story out right now! I missed all of their banter and can't wait to actually get to my continuation of the story past the actual plot of the episodes.

Following Zemo down the cobblestone streets, you can't help but take in your surroundings. Truthfully, you're not well traveled, and while it's always been something you'd been interested in, you'd never gotten the chance. Not until now, you suppose. Two continents down in a matter of seventy-two hours certainly is something to be said.

Lips parted in awe, the colorful buildings and their accompanying trim captivate you. There's so much intricacy in the sculptures and patterns adorning the architecture; it's clear that this city is old, its buildings and roads give a glimpse into the past, hints of another time seeping through. It could, in part, be due to the fact that Riga is the capital of Latvia, upon the search you did before arriving, however it's possible the theme also extends beyond the city. That part you're unsure of.

"I heard what became of Sokovia," Zemo breaks the silence. "Cannibalized by its neighbors before the land was even cleared of rubble, erased from the map. I don't suppose any of you bothered visiting the memorial?" Just as you open your mouth to speak, he's continuing, not having given anyone a chance to answer. "Of course not. Why would you?"

"I saw it," you add quietly, "well- the one in New York. I haven't ever been here before... never even been to Europe," you decidedly ramble, the last part quiet as you talk more to yourself than them, seeing as they aren't really listening. "Well, not until now, I guess."

"We are here," Zemo announces, effectively icing you out. It's clear he doesn't wish to continue on the topic he'd brought up. Though, the look that'd crossed his features for a split second upon your confession was one that seemed to give him pause. Heading for the ornately designed metal gate, it isn't until someone else speaks up that your group slows to a stop.

"I'm gonna go on a walk," Bucky states. Turning to look at him, your eyebrows raise slightly in surprise.

"You good?" Sam asks.

"Yeah," Bucky assures you all. You're tempted to ask if he wants company, but, knowing how quiet he can be, he seems more like the introspective type. Probably would prefer solitude, you jecture. "I'll see you guys in a bit."

"Okay," you acknowledge, "Be safe," you call out after him as he's already a few paces away.

"Yep!" Is all the Soldier responds with before you follow the men up the stairs. Met with an elaborate metal gate artistically crafted with points and spirals, you admire the stained glass windows on the apartment's door while Zemo unlocks it.

"Welcome," the Baron states as he opens the door and follows you in. Stunned by the foyer, you take a few steps inside, gogging at your surroundings. There's a bowl of apples on the table. You begin to slip off your shoes as the men continue settling in. "I am going to freshen up if you'll excuse me. Please, make yourselves at home."

The colorfully tiled floor captures your eyes as the stone's cool temperature seeps through your socks. "Thanks," you respond halfheartedly, still taking in all the tiny details hidden in every surface of the apartment. Opting for the expansive multi-colored couch, you plop down onto it as you let yourself relax for five minutes.

"Why don't you take a nap?" Sam suggests from where he stands in the kitchen, hand atop the counter he currently rounds.

"I'm thinking about it," you respond. Though, there might be something to the Avenger's predictive skills considering as soon as you'd sat down the tired weight of your body and mind started to drag you under.

"I meant, like, in a bed somewhere," Sam explains with a chuckle.

------------

The sound of a door shutting causes your body to suddenly lurch upright as you look for its source. Quickly finding the Bionic Staring Machine--as Sharon so lovingly put it--striding into the living space of the apartment, the slam of the door must've been him getting back.

"Well, the Wakandans are here," Bucky states casually as he walks into the room. "They want Zemo."

"What?! When? You just saw them now?" Interrupting Bucky, you feel like this is a lot bigger of a deal then he's letting on. After all, if they're here- where are they? Because they're not with him.

"-Bought us some more time." The man stops in the middle of the room and turns to you, giving you a pointed stare. "Yes, just now." You're left wondering if he got that look from Sam, or Sam picked that up from Bucky.

"Were you followed?" Sam questions, turning toward Bucky in his seat at the counter.

"No," Bucky answers.

"How do you know for sure?" You prod.

"How can you be so sure?" Zemo asks at the same time, emerging from the bathroom. This elicits a look from him as the two of you try and gauge the other, unsure if you're shocked that you had the same line of thinking, or whether you're more alike than you'd previously thought. Perhaps it's just a coincidence! After all, it's a pretty logical question, right?

"Because I know when I'm being followed. Alright?" Bucky retorts without hesitation, an annoyance obvious in his tone. At least you're almost certain that's what it is... even if the soldier sounds vexed half the time, in your opinion.

"It was sweet of you to defend me at least," Zemo comments. It's only then that you notice he's only clad in a bathrobe as he pats his face.

An aroma of something sweet like citrus, yet spicy like a mint or menthol emanates from his direction, and you can only assume it's aftershave considering his hair is also wet. Hadn't he said something about freshening up? Since when does that include actually bathing? Sleep still has it claws curled around the edges of your mind as you scoot to the edge of the couch.

"Hey, you shut it-" Sam barks, "No one's defending you. You killed Nagel." There's something uncouth about the way a quiet giggle tumbles past your lips.

"Do we really have to-" Zemo pauses, his attention turning to you with a skeptic look.

"Why are you laughing? How, exactly, is this funny?" Sam turns his frustration on you. Hands immediately coming up in defense, you attempt to hold back the smile tugging at your lips.

"It's not," you assure him, "it's not, I just... why would you say that?" You laugh again, looking toward Zemo with furrowed brows. This man is... puzzling, to say the least.

"Because it was nice of him to advocate on my behalf," the Baron shrugs, seemingly nonplussed. Yet, the faint smirk tugging at his lip tells you otherwise. "Do we really have to litigate what may or may not have happened?" Zemo finishes his original thought.

"You're clearly in need of some good sleep. Why don't you head to bed?" Sam urges, before turning on the redhead. "There's nothing to litigate! You straight shot the man."

"I mean... kind of hard to say you didn't when we all witnessed it," you point out with a shrug of your own. Standing, you approach the kitchen counter in an attempt to see what's so interesting on Bucky's phone. The man hasn't contributed once since leaving you all with that bombshell, distracted by the piece of technology in his gloved hands.

"Sam," Bucky calls. Of course, just when you think to engage him, he's refocused on your friend, ultimately ignoring you. Well, and Zemo, if that means anything.

"What?" The Avenger prods, his undivided attention turning toward the soldier as you all gather around the counter.

"Karli bombed a GRC Supply Depot," Bucky states monotonously.

"What?" Sam asks surprised, "What's the damage?"

"Eleven injured, three dead," the Soldier reads off his phone. "They have a list of demands and are promising more attacks if those demands aren't met in full."

"She's getting worse," Zemo states as if it were fact.

"What're the demands?" You inquire, leaning onto your forearms that rest atop the chilly black granite countertop. Sam's sigh fills the silence as Bucky's eyes scan over the webpage, presumably looking for the information you'd asked for.

"I have the will to complete this mission," Zemo speaks up. "Do the three of you?" Everyone's attention shifts upon this question. All eyes on the Baron. You're left speechless as your minds churn through the question and possible different answers and outcomes.

"She's just a kid," Sam points out.

"You're seeing something in her that isn't there," Zemo rebuttals, "You're clouded by it. She's a Supremacist. The very concept of a Super Soldier will always trouble people. It's that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers."

You can see where he's coming from. Not just because of his family, but because of the articles that'd come out time and time again. The posts people would write from foreign countries detailing the way that the Avengers coming in to stop whatever malevolent threat they'd been sent in to defeat only seemed to cause more damage. The fights might've caused more destruction than if they hadn't shown up at all. Now, whether that was true or not was up for debate, but the fact that many people suffered due to collateral damage is entirely real.

It'd been swept under the rug for as long as it could, but things certainly changed after Zemo took action, and after the Blip. People don't have the same politically dutiful leashes they'd once had on their opinions.

"Hey, those are our friends you're talking about," Sam argues.

"The Avengers, not the Nazis," Bucky corrects.

"Thanks for clarifying," you joke. It wasn't really necessary, as you'd figured who they were inferring, but nevertheless, Bucky's need to clarify was amusing. "But how can you be sure? That she's not still a child?" You play devil's advocate.

"So, Karli is radicalized, but there has to be a peaceful way to stop her," Sam thinks aloud.

"And if there's not?" You question him, "I'm not saying we don't try it first, but, if worse comes to worst?"

"The desire to become a Superhuman cannot be separated from Supremacist ideals," Zemo answers your question. "Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her," he pauses, "or she kills you."

"Maybe you're wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve," Bucky contends, arms crossed as he now leans against the wall directly across the counter from the Baron.

"That's a good point," you mutter under your breath as you're intent to hear what the Baron comes up with in response.

"Touché," Zemo agrees, "but there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?" Wagging his fingers for emphasis, you can't help but be distracted by the fact that it's poked through the hole in a shortbread-looking cookie. Or, as you'd guess they're called here: biscuits. The two circle each other, Zemo rounding the counter until he's across from you opening the cabinets while Bucky rounded the other way, now somewhere behind you.

"Well, maybe we should give him to the Wakandans right now," Bucky posits.

"And you'll give up your tour guide?" Oof, Zemo was quick with the comeback on that one, you'll give it to him.

"Yes," Bucky answers with zero hesitation.

"So you're planning on killing her then?" You question Zemo, who has his back turned to you as he rifles through the cabinet he's just opened.

"From my understanding-" Sam begins to speak.

"It's the only way to stop her. You'd let her kill you first?" He tosses the hypothetical situation back on you. Without so much as a glance in your direction, clearly unphased by the content of your conversation.

"Donya is like a pillar of the community, right?" Sam continues his line of thought, unbothered by your little dissection of ideology with Zemo.

An uncomfortable chuckle escapes you. "No? I mean..." Unable to truly come up with a satisfactory response, you switch gears and turn, listening to Sam instead.

"Exactly," Zemo responds with an air of triumph, a quiet and amused scoff leaving his lips.

"So when I was a kid, my TT passed away," Sam explains.

"Your TT?" Bucky questions, head lolled back as he listens from the couch now. A pained expression crosses his features as he finally rights his head and looks back at Sam.

"Yeah," Sam delights, "my TT, yeah."

"Who is your TT?" Bucky specifies.

"Yeah, who is...?" You quietly probe, a little lost despite not having missed anything.

Sam rolls his eyes. "Fine," he concedes. You know he's not really annoyed, but it'd be easier if he didn't have to explain. "When I was a kid, my Aunt passed away. And, the entire neighborhood got together for a ceremony. It was like a week long," he explains, a far off look overtaking his features as he remembers. "Maybe they're doing the same thing for Donya."

"Worth a shot," Bucky encourages.

"Your TT would be proud of you," Zemo comments, though the way he'd said it definitely sounded more akin to something vulgar than what he'd intended. This elicits another smile you try to contain as you shake your head. Maybe he's just trying to get a reaction out of them, you ponder.

Finally taking a moment to let your eyes wander, you can't help but ogle the Baron a bit. From where you're standing you can only barely see that beneath the navy robe he's got on a pair of white silken pants, which... wow. You don't think you've ever even seen silk pants before, but, they certainly bring out the color of his hair. As he turns, the glimmer of a square pendant sits in the middle of his exposed chest. It's a pretty silver necklace, you'll admit, though the sight of his auburn chest hairs only elicits flashes of memory from the night before.

An earnest gasp leaves your parted lips at the particularly hard thrust he gives you. Nails slightly digging into his shoulders, you're breathing hard, sweat covering your chest, sweat running down his temple. While he isn't toned in the same way Bucky or any body builder is, he's still muscular. The strength with which he holds himself up over you, and grips your hip with his free hand is enough of an indicator.

While moans pour past your lips, groans and grunts slipping out of his, you can't help but admire him. Is it so wrong that you're doing this? It doesn't feel wrong. In fact, it feels like everything you've been missing the past few years. The way he touches you, looks at you, fills you... it's ecstatic. And, sure, maybe your judgment is clouded by the tangled knot that's already building in your lower stomach. Yet, you can't help it. Was evil, as they call him, always so beautiful?

Leg hooking itself around his hip, you open yourself up just enough for him to be able to hit that spot. "Helmut, I-" your voice comes out far more desperate than you'd like. You'd both fully lost your composure some time ago during the first round. Now, your fingers run through his chest hair while you gaze up at him, taking in the way his hair is mussed, his skin sheens with sweat, and beauty marks litter his face. "Блят!" He curses under his breath, and you know he's getting close too. "Cum for me, Schatz."

"Turkish Delight," Zemo announces, wiggling a wrapped piece between his fingers before tossing one to Sam. Blinking a few times, you do your best to return to the present. The Avenger catches it swiftly, inspecting it in his hand while you turn your attention back to Zemo. He pours a bunch of the--What are they? Candies?--out from a rusty silver tin onto the counter, the ornate symbol on it catching your eye. "Irresistible," he describes, winking in your direction.

With a smile on your lips all you can do is shake your head at his discreet teasing as you grab a pink piece from the pile on the counter. "These are the things from Narnia, right? Turkish Delight," you question, unwrapping the crinkly clear plastic to hold the plush candy between your fingers.

"Oh my God," Sam enunciates each word before he exclaims with a laugh, slapping the counter gently. "I haven't thought about that in ages!"

"Narnia?" Bucky questions, a quirked brow of confusion on his face. He looks between you and Sam for clarification.

"It's a children's book, though I do not remember the reference," Zemo explains, obviously intrigued.

"In the movie-" you begin.

"-Based off the book," Sam interrupts to add, popping the treat into his mouth.

"-one of the kids gets, sort of... manipulated?" You question what word is best a descriptor considering it's been awhile since you've seen it. "By the witch, because she offers him whatever he wants for his loyalty, and to rat out his sibling's location or something, basically their lives, and out of everything in the whole world, he picks Turkish Delight!" You explain with a chuckle at the thought.

"Though I think it's because it was during the war and they didn't really have food like that, but yeah- it doesn't come across in the movie at all!" Sam offers more insight.

"Makes sense," Bucky comments lamely with a shrug as he opens his own candy.

"Well, we can go once this one's dressed," Sam remarks somewhat passive-aggressively with a left-turn comment.

"Well, if you give me a moment, I'll be happy to meet you at the door," Zemo retaliates somewhat sarcastically, leaving a somewhat soured and tense vibe between everyone in the room. Back to business, you guess.

-------

You try not to ogle him when he comes back in a fuchsia turtleneck sweater that fits a little too snug, and a long black trench coat with a fur-lined collar. The entire ensemble is all too reminiscent of the night two days ago when you'd landed in Madripoor.

While you weren't exactly sure where you all were going, Zemo seemed to have a good idea once Bucky had shared the location of the Supply Depot. It might've been somewhat of a trust exercise on all your behalves to blindly follow the socialite down the winding, peeling streets of Riga, yet nevertheless somewhat of an adrenaline inducing adventure in your mind.

Having just come through a set of steel double doors, you try not to feel anxious as the gate shuts behind you. Trailing along the Baron's side, you read the posters on the walls.

"Shame what's become of this place," he states, making conversation. As you open your mouth to ask what he means, Zemo expands. "When I was young we used to come here for fabulous dinners and parties. I knew nothing of the politics of the time, of course, but I remember it being beautiful."

While part of you is curious to ask the Baron questions, there's a more pressing matter at hand.

'RESET.

RESTORE.

REBUILD.

Global Repatriation Council.'

Reading the poster pasted along the white walls of the courtyard, you can only imagine what you're going to be up against.

"I'm gonna take a look upstairs," Sam announces, "See what you can find out here." Tearing your gaze from the poster you finally meet the man's gaze. "And keep an eye on him." There's no need to extrapolate, it's obvious he means the Baron. You assume dual responsibility, even if he might've been directing it toward Bucky and not necessarily you.

A nod in your friend's direction, Sam parts from the group stepping through a set of glass-paned double doors, allowing you three reign of the courtyard. "I'll stay out of your way," Zemo announces, lifting his gloved hands in a defensive gesture as he takes a step further into the area. You don't miss, however, the glare Bucky gives the Baron, and the devilish smile the man displays behind the Soldier's back.

All around you people seem busy with their activities, some hanging wet laundry up on lines to dry, some washing and cutting vegetables at tables, while others huddle in a corner and whisper to your right. Out of your periphery you can spot Bucky approaching the people laundering on your left. "Donya?" He posits, to no response. "No?"

With your more friendly demeanor, and being a woman, you decide to take a stab at it. Cautiously approaching the people on your right, many disperse from their conversation in search of something to do, no doubt. The woman and man that remain, you sidle up against. "Excuse me," you speak softly, "do you know where Donya Madani's reception is going to be?"

The woman appears meek, her stringy hair held back by a ribbon, hands coming up to her chest. She simply shakes her head while the man at least offers you an answer. "No," he responds, "We don't trust outsiders." Turning his back on you, he returns to conversation with the woman, ultimately shutting you out. Your lips purse in retaliation, and while you might attempt to argue and question why he thinks you're an outsider any other time, you know they'd seen who you'd come in with.

Mind churning through different tactics, it isn't until you spot Zemo halfway across the courtyard that you know he's most likely up to no good. He won't get a chance to escape, not on your watch. With bigger strides than you're used to, you stalk after him as discreetly as you can without straight up chasing him.

"Yes, sir~ yes, sir, three bags full~" the Baron is reciting some sort of rhyme you're not familiar with in a tone that's far too ominous for your taste. "One for my master, one for the dame~" He's certainly garnered the attention of the children, and while they've stopped playing, he's pulled out a small wooden stool from their accompanied small table. "One for the little girl who lives down the lane~"

Attempting to appear busied, you kick at the cobblestone beneath your feet, keeping a short distance between yourself and the man before you who crouches in front of the stool, spilling the contents of a paper bag he'd produced onto it. Ah.... The sly bastard. An assortment of the temptingly colorful candies plop onto the stool. It's something you're sure the children haven't seen in a long time, judging by the looks of this place. And as a child, who can resist something like that? If anything, he'd taken your comment about Narnia a little too seriously.

"Turkish Delight," you hear Zemo state, though your eyes are fixated on the statue of Poseidon behind the group of children. It's intriguing to you that he'd thought to bring the candy in the first place. How did he know there were going to be children here? "It was always my son's favorite." For some reason the admission pings at your heart. Why? You aren't too sure. Maybe it's the way it was easy to forget he had a family. At least... you hadn't remembered reading about him being a father. Yet, the revelation leaves a sorrowful feeling in your stomach. You know you never would've spent that night together if they were alive.

Motion draws your attention back to the scene at hand, and you can't help but shove your hands in your pockets. The blonde haired girl grabs one of the candies, unafraid as she'd been the only one of them to approach. "My old friend, Donya, passed away," Zemo lies, "Did you know her?" Biting your lip, you can't help but watch, impressed, by his tactic. Of course the children will know. They hear everything, and considering the taboo subject, and their naivety, will most likely respond to his white lie.

The girl tentatively nods. "Yes," she answers, fingers anxiously twirling the candy back and forth in her little fingers by either end of the plastic wrapping.

"I would like to pay my last respects," he continues, "Do you know where her funeral will be?" Wow, you mentally laugh to yourself. He's using the exact same tactic you were going to use! You might not have went with 'old friend', but rather, someone you knew. Mentor, perhaps? Contact? Regardless, the 'paying your last respects' bait is exactly what you would've claimed if only the adults had indulged your conversation a bit longer.

Moment of truth. The little girl nods again, though this time he simply points to his ear before she's skipping to his side and whispering. Unfortunately, he's too far away for you to make out what she's saying. Eyes drifting back to the statue, you can't help but wonder why such a beautiful piece of art is sitting here, in a secluded cobblestone courtyard, of all places. As far as you'd known, Latvia wasn't partial to Greece's Polytheistic beliefs.

Suddenly, Zemo's standing, towering over the children as he tells them something in a hushed voice. Tempted to get closer, you're about to make a move when his actions bring you to a halt. Fingers twisting in front of their lips, they tacitly make a bond you're familiar with. Secrets; sealing your mouth with the key and throwing it away. With a handover of the Turkish Delight, the Baron turns on his heels and strides back the way you'd come. It's then that you rejoin him.

"You just got it, didn't you?" You question, Sam and Bucky appearing in your periphery up ahead.

The Baron says nothing as he tucks his hands into his coat's pockets and shrugs. "Cute kids," he finally states. That's all the answer you know you're going to get, begrudgingly.

"Head back?" Sam suggests, hands shoved in his pockets as the breeze begins to pick up in the alley.

"We should be seen as little as possible," Bucky states. Though, you know he must mean it in agreement, it'd simply come across awkward and unrelated if you hadn't picked up on his communication style awhile back.

--------

Entering the apartment once again, Zemo heads for the kitchen with a determination that makes you think twice about where his motives lie and what he could possibly be planning, while Bucky stomps into the living room, Sam close behind.

"Well, I got nothing," Bucky admits defeat. "No one's talking about Donya."

As you follow Bucky and Sam to the couch, you remain standing while they each take a seat. You cross your arms over your chest.

"They don't trust outsiders. Know better than to confide in people speaking English," you comment. Eyes drifting over to spot Zemo rifling through the cabinets and rooting around the kitchen, preoccupied with God knows what. He knows something, yet isn't saying anything. Nevertheless, as Sam's voice fills the living space your attention falls back to the conversation at hand.

"Yeah, it's because Karli is the only one fighting for them," Sam points out. Bucky sighs at the information. "And she's not wrong."

"What do you mean?" Bucky questions, eyes landing on your friend.

"For five years people have been welcomed into countries that have kept them out using barbwire. There were houses and jobs," he explains.

"Yeah, it was actually pretty nice," you agree. "You don't know?" Settling on Bucky's features for a moment, you're only met with a tense look upon his face and cold eyes. That gives you enough of an answer. He was a victim of the Snap, too? You never would have guessed.

"Folks were happy to have people around to help them rebuild," Sam continues, "It wasn't just one community coming together, it was the entire world coming together... and then, boom," he snaps his fingers together, "Just like that, it goes right back to the way it used to be. To them, at least Karli's doin' somethin'."

"Which is better than anything the government's doing," you add.

"You really think her ends justify her means?" Bucky posits.

"Mm-mm," Sam shakes his head in response to your comment, clearly not wanting to get into that can of worms. And you aren't entirely sure how to answer the heavy hitting question.

"Then she's no different than him or anybody else we've fought," Bucky points out.

Eyes shifting between Bucky and Zemo, you're unsure why that's necessarily a bad thing. While you've known how Sam sees Zemo's actions, and you'd thought Bucky's alignment fell somewhere in-between... you're starting to think he and Sam are more alike than you'd previously thought. As you open your mouth to debate Bucky's question, your friend beats you to it.

"She's different," Sam retorts without hesitation. "She's not motivated by the same things."

As Zemo approaches from your right, you can't help but notice he's got a tray in his hands. Some kind of pink tea sits within a see-through teapot, a couple of teacups atop their tiny plates joined by spoons lie around it.

"That little girl," Bucky states, "What'd she tell you?" The question elicits a suspicious look between the Baron and the three of you. It's obvious he's weighing his options. Setting the tray down upon the round table, he finally meets the Soldier's eyes again.

"The funeral is this afternoon," Zemo reveals. A hint of a small smirk tugs at the corner of your lip as you'd just known that tactic would work. While you may be a little jealous you hadn't thought of it first, you can't deny it was smart, and you'd known it'd pay off as soon as you saw him talking to her and realized what he was doing.

However, you can't help but notice the way he answers calmly. Cool, and collected, it's obvious he's trying to bide time. Think of a way out of this.

"You know the Dora's coming for you any minute," Bucky threatens, not having taken his eyes off the Baron since the man approached. "In fact, they're probably lurking outside right now. Keep talking." This little tidbit of information causes you to unintentionally whip your head around to stare out the thin windows lining the apartment's front door. Like you'd realistically see someone standing right there.

Even if you don't know who the Dora are, the imminent threat looms over all of your heads, not just Zemo's.

"Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli," Zemo hums in thought, "I prefer to keep my leverage." Fingers running over the smooth ceramic cup he holds within his hands, you don't question things as Bucky gets up and rounds the table before you. In an instant the Soldier's throwing it, the ceramic smashing against the wall behind the Baron. You both flinch, albeit subtly, as your eyes widen.

"You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?" Bucky taunts, taking a step closer to the Baron and eliciting you and Sam's action. While you're reaching toward Bucky, Sam's standing across from him, looming over the table like he's ready to intervene if need be.

"Take it easy," Sam warns.

"It's fine," you add on. If there's anything you've picked up on from Zemo, it's that he's just as intent on getting to Karli as the two of your guys' are.

"Don't engage him," Sam advises, "He's just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing,"

Funnily enough, Zemo straightens his posture having realized he was, in fact, tilting his head. Something, you have to pride Sam for having recognized. You certainly hadn't noticed. "Let me make a call," Sam excuses himself. Rounding the table, he pats Bucky on the back on his way out. Despite this, the men continue to stare one another down like some sort of fight for male dominance.

"You want some Cherry Blossom tea?" Zemo offers. A lame attempt at deescalating the heightened tension in the room.

A sneer displays itself across the Soldier's face. "No, you go ahead," he refutes, turning and storming off. While you deliberate on following, having even taken so much as a step or two, you give up. Considering you don't know the man that well, there's no way he'd ever care to listen to what you have to say.

You don't miss the way Zemo audibly, albeit faintly, releases an exhale. A sigh slips past your own lips and your eyes finally fall down to the tea in question. "Cherry Blossom?" You ask, amusement unhidden in your tone.

"It's a delicacy," Zemo quips without so much as a beat. The man shrugs before walking back over to the kitchen, to which, you follow.

"Sure," you respond, "I mean, I don't know, but, it sounds good." Now for your lame attempt at reducing the tension.

"Would you like some?" He asks, though his tone sounds somewhat rhetorical as he grabs a kitchen towel off the counter and turns on his heels to look at you, no apparent expression on his face besides indifference.

This takes you aback, and you try to contain the surprised look on your face when you mentally and verbally flail. "I- I mean-" you shake your head as you try to gather your rationale, "-if you're having some, then sure? Yeah, I guess it wouldn't hurt."

Your reaction elicits a faint chuckle from the man as he flings the towel over his shoulder, walking back your way toward the spill. It feels oddly both exhilarating somehow and ominous the way your shoulders brush against one another unintentionally when he passes. He doesn't stop or turn to look back at you, but simply kneels before the mess and begins to clean it up, which gives you pause.

In the silence your mind reels, yet you can't seem to stop yourself from voicing the thoughts bouncing around up there. "What do you think you're going to get?" Your voice is calm, cool, and collected. Everything he'd been only moments before Bucky had burst. It's simply a question that's been churning over and over in your mind for the past few hours.

Even if he's turned from you, the brief pause of his movement gives way to how you've rattled him. "The same thing as you," he answers, the sound of glass gently scraping against the tiled floors is all the sound you need to know he's regained his assuredness.

Only, this time you're the one stumped for an answer. Mouth opening and closing for a split-second as you search for a grasp on his meaning, you know there's no way he's serious. "What do you mean?" Fingers playing with the hem of your borrowed sweater, you hope your deciphering of his words is wrong, for many reasons.

The man before you slowly rises to a stand, his figure towering over yours as he turns, green eyes peering down at you with something cynical beneath the surface. "You're in the same boat as Sharon. Hoping for a pardon," he answers confidently, eye contact unwavering as that mischievous glint in his eye makes you feel vulnerable under his gaze. "Assuming I've picked up on your situation correctly, of course."

In this silent stare down you're the first to break, again, as your eyes shift aside the both of you in search of a decent response. When nothing comes to mind, a sigh escapes you. That's when he walks off, leaving you standing there alone. Whatever heat had been emitting from him in droves simply fades like he was never that close to begin with. "You're... not wrong," you reply, watching him dispose of the glass in the trash as you still stand between the living room and kitchen.

"So you're not the good girl you portray yourself as," Zemo diverts, the topic evolving into something you weren't prepared for. When his eyes raise to meet yours from behind the island, you can't help but search within his gaze for what prompted this, his innuendo quite overt.

"I never pretended to be someone I'm not," you bite back. This time there's no hesitancy or submissiveness in your voice. Turning on your heels, you head for the couch. Bucky still isn't back from the bathroom yet. Who knows? Maybe he went off to find Sam and relay plans without you in whatever room the man went off to for his phone call.

"I cannot say I did not doubt you," Zemo comments as he approaches once more, another cup in hand this time. "However, your tenacity was admirable in the ship yard." The man lifts his teapot up, pouring the pink liquid into their respective cups.

An eyebrow quirks in response. You're not sure how to take his words, or what his intent is, however you decide to take him at his word. "Tell me what you really think," you joke, ultimately deciding to let go of whatever indignation his comment had brewed internally. Because, why would you care about his opinion? Would it be because he'd almost gotten away with one crime? With an assassination? Or for creating a divide amongst friends? I don't think so.

It certainly wasn't because you'd slept with him. If you'd been fishing for compliments or praise, you wouldn't do half the things you do. The way you acted with him, you never pretended. At least that was honest. You're not so sure you can think the same of him anymore.

Silence settles between you for a moment. Only the sound of liquid pouring into the china resounds through the open room. "May I ask," he speaks, pausing in his actions as you can see him mentally gauging how to word whatever's on his mind. Placing the teapot back in its spot on the tray, his eyes give you a once over. "Why is it that you're not as angry with me? I cannot say that their ire has ever been subtle in the least."

The glance he'd spared in the direction Bucky had taken off leaves you with an exact understanding of what he's asking: 'Everyone else is against me. Why aren't you?' There's one thing in admitting that you don't trust him; something that wouldn't surprise him, you're sure. However, angry? No. You're not angry with him.

"Besides the fact that you haven't personally wronged me, for one," you begin, eyes shifting toward the block of couch between you. "Not everyone holds the same sentiment for our country as they do." Looking off in the direction your friends had gone, you know it's a hard truth.

Sharon may joke about them being poster boys for the United States government, and Bucky may not always agree with, or support, their endeavors. But, ultimately, isn't that exactly what they are? Even if only to some degree? After everything you'd endured on its behalf, it'd be hard to say that it didn't at least open your eyes a little toward what values the country truly stands on its feet for.

"They're just extra loud about their beliefs," you attempt to joke, diluting the reality beneath your conversation, and deescalate the tension. With a soft chuckle, you finally meet the Baron's eye again. He isn't smiling or frowning, however the look within his eyes is the only solace that there's an understanding between the two of you.

At least there's that. Someone who isn't afraid to actually weigh the reality of the circumstances.

"You are not wrong about that," Zemo 'tsks', a faint smile finally spreading across his lips as he lifts the china glass to his lips. You follow suit, having let it cool down for a moment. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind had you also potentially worried about poison. However, if he's drinking it then it should be fine... right? "It is unfortunate, however, how many people do not realize the seemingly mundane is the dogma they're being blindly fed," he says between sips. "What do you think?"

Blinking, you're met with his intent expression, unsure how to respond. He hadn't given you any time to mentally piece together a response or comment! "I... don't-"

Zemo laughs wholeheartedly; wrinkles form beside his eyes and he's bent over his lap, careful not to spill his tea. You're befuddled. You don't know how to react or what to do, or even what was so funny? Yet, you'd be lying if you said if his laughter wasn't contagious, or that you chuckle a little in confusion over the whole situation. It'd be a downright depressing question if you were left wondering if and when the last time he'd laughed like that was. That thought doesn't cross your mind in the moment, fortunately.

"I meant about the tea," he finally explains, clueing you in on the amusement of the situation. Your expression of realization must be funny considering the way it starts up his laughter again. And, the fact that it's the type of laughter that makes your stomach hurt from the muscles working overtime, to the way your cheeks also ache in conjunction after unconsciously smiling for so long is something you can only be jealous of. For, when's the last time you'd experienced that?

"Oh!" You facepalm with your empty hand, slightly embarrassed, hoping your cheeks aren't flushing with it. "I-it's good! Yeah, I like it," you reply, unable to help yourself from smiling down at the pink liquid still filling a little less than half of your cup. "It's really..." you try to think of the best word to describe it.

"Refreshing?" He posits.

You find yourself unconsciously smiling in his direction upon his response. "That's a good word for it! Sweet, and somehow, like... a little crisp? But, refreshing, yeah!"

"Is he doing his standup routine for you?" Sam questions as he strolls into the living room with purpose in his stride.

"Had plenty of time to practice in prison," Bucky grumbles in Sam's pursuit, loud enough for everyone to hear, yet quiet enough for it to be considered an intrusive thought.

As you look in their direction, you can't help but smile a little wider at their joke. Even if they don't realize it, Bucky and Sam definitely have a similar humor. One only amplifying the other. "Uh, no? He just said something I misunderstood and it was funny," you correct and inform them. Though you're sure they couldn't care less.

"Not everyone aspires to become a comedian," Zemo retorts, "even if most people of your--well, one of your--generations seem to wish to be." The man crosses his legs, body squared off toward theirs on the couch.

"Wow, what an original one," Bucky says snarkily. The solider crosses his arms, his routine stoicism having returned.

"You had some?" Sam asks, eyes flitting between you and the cherry blossom tea.

"Yeah! It's actually really nice," you perk up, glad someone else isn't brooding or feuding in this room. It's truly been enough of a testosterone-fest the past few days to last you years!

"I'll have to get some later then," Sam comments with a seemingly genuine excitement to try something from another culture.

"Yeah, just jot it down on the bucket list," Bucky remarks sarcastically.

"Okay, well, I just heard from Sharon," Sam relays, hands gesticulating as he starts to explain the plan, effectively ignoring Bucky's attitude. "She's got an eye on our back so we're not going in blind, but we still need to be hypervigilant going in there."

"Prepared for anything," Bucky reinforces the idea. You're still not entirely convinced they're not set on killing the girl. At least, you're confident that Sam isn't.

As Sam pans over the basic plan, you can't help but worry about how everything's going to realistically play out. It's all good and easy to pretend everyone has a conscience and that Karli will simply hand over the rest of the Super Solider serum she has, but you doubt that's the case. She won't go quietly.

"Your job is to secure the vials and safely escort them out of the hot zone. You're the only one who can decipher how Nagel was pulling this stunt off and if the Power Broker's planning on doling out this stuff on a mass scale, then we sure as shit need this in the right hands." Sam explains to you. It's the first time you truly realize the gravity of your job in this mission. "With that outta the way-"

"Where is this thing?" Bucky asks pointedly as he stares down Zemo, no amusement to be found on his face. Straight to business, as always. Can't say you'd expect less from the man, unfortunately.

--------

Sidling up against Sam, you do your best to keep up with the men's speedy walk. Your legs aren't as long, and you make up for it by attempting to take bigger strides.

"Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit." The vaguely familiar voice garners all your group's attention as you follow Zemo to the leveraged meeting spot. It's that guy- the new Captain America. What was his name again?

He and his friend scamper down the stairs a few yards directly in front of your group.

"Ah!" Bucky exclaims with arms wide open. "How'd you find us now?" For some reason, he doesn't actually sound upset this time? At least, not truly.

"Come on," the Captain's friend answers. "You really think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?" Well, he's got you there. Word spreads fast in towns like these.

"No more keeping us in the dark," the Captain demands, "You could start by telling us why you broke him out of prison." The blonde-haired man turns his frustration on the Baron.

While you're not entirely sure what the Captain is referring to, it's obvious there's history between the men. What's more bothersome, is the way you notice someone just over their shoulder--a teenager--begin to record on his phone. It's obvious, the kid isn't even trying to hide it, granted... if you saw a celebrity out in public, would you do the same?

"He did that himself, technically," Bucky responds.

It's clear that's not what the Captain wanted to hear. The anger in his face is exacerbated by the pinch between his brows and the way he hasn't stopped encroaching on you all despite the rather close proximity he's gaining. "Ah, this better be an unbelievable explanati-"

"Hey, take it easy before it gets weird," Sam warns. With the way the Captain was gesticulating wildly, you'd say it already has, though you're not sure how best to contribute and deescalate the quickly escalating situation.

"I know where Karli is," Zemo explains. A quick look around shows you that multiple groups of people have stopped walking and are beginning to stare. This isn't good. You were supposed to be as discreet as possible, and that's already hard when you're in the company of three well-known people.

"Guys, people are watching," you whisper, gaze shifting over to the two staring each other down. The Baron grimaces for only a moment before attempting to slink around the Captain, who stops him with a hand placed on his chest.

"Well, where?" the Captain demands.

"All we know is, it's a memorial," Sam informs. Yet, despite the initial focus on Zemo, the man in question is looking past him for something. What's he looking for? Following his gaze, you don't spot anything. "So we're gonna intercept her there." Granted, your attention is quickly back on the men as they continue to plan.

"That means civilians. High risk of casualties," the Captain's friend announces. As Zemo manages to slip around the Captain, you follow, the rest of the group's footsteps behind you as they do the same.

"Good, that means we move fast, take her by surprise," the Captain comments.

"That's not the plan," you argue, not bothering to look over your shoulder.

"No, I wanna talk to her alone," Sam quips as well, the two of you unwilling to let things slide into a frenzy. No doubt something more than likely with the new poster-boys of the US Government on your tail.

"I'm not losing her again," the Captain states definitively.

"Look, the person closest to her died," Sam points out, "She's vulnerable. Now if there's any time to reason with her, it's now."

"What? No!" All of the sudden the Captain is jogging beside you until he's almost in front of you. "Wait, no! No! Stop," he holds his hands out as he steps directly in front of your group's path. "Hold on. Stop, okay? I think we're way past reasoning with her, unless you forgot the fact that she blew up a building with people in it."

"Of course you'd say that," you bite. From the past you've always known soldiers to be the quickest to anger, and the quickest to escalate. Nothing can ever end peacefully with them.

"Sam, you walk in there cold, she could kill you," his buddy is pointing out.

"What is that supposed to mean, exactly?" The Captain hones in on you this time.

"And if I go in hot and the op goes wrong, more people will die," Sam argues.

"Exactly- there's no room for error here," you add.

"Are you gonna let him do this?" The Captain turns his attention to Bucky, now. "Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a super soldier alone?" Silence fills the street for only a moment.

"He's dealt with worse. And he's not my partner," Bucky answers. Out of your periphery you can spot Zemo looking around again, and this time you're irritated. It was one thing having the US Government's ponyboy delaying your prime opportunity at ending things civilly, but now the Baron's looking for an escape route? Frowning in his direction, you can't help but follow his gaze again out of precaution. Only this time you see what he's been looking for.

"I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay?" Sam informs, "This is right in my wheelhouse." As your friend rounds Bucky to get closer to the Captain, you can only be grateful someone's intervening.

"Yeah, I know," the Captain responds. "And I know those soldiers which is why I know this is a bad idea."

"Aren't you supposed to be the image of diplomacy? Don't you think that's a bad strategy and a bad look?" You prod. If no one'll say it, someone has to. It's worth a thought, at least.

"Wait, John," the Captain's friend speaks. So that's his name! Definitely American, and an eerily perfect name for someone who'd represent America. Not that you're a fan. "She's not wrong. If he can talk her down, it might be worth a try."

John, as you now know, seems to consider this as he scoffs under his breath. With a shake of his head, he finally looks to Zemo. "We'll deal with you later," he warns.

"I'm sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion," the Baron replies, palms outward in a placative gesticulation. "my associate is just up ahead," he informs, gesturing up the path. It's the girl. The same one from the GRC encampment you'd visited earlier. The only child brave enough to speak to him, to earn the Turkish Delight for the rest of them.

This time it's you who can't keep it together as an amused breath leaves your lips. "Associate?" You question quietly, peering up at him.

Zemo meets your gaze for a moment, a sort of twinkle in his eye as he offers a half-hearted shrug. "Associate," he doubles down. The Baron rounds John's friend and takes the lead. Following suit, you know Bucky and Sam aren't far behind, while John and his friend dawdle after.

While the girl has a trepid look on her face, she doesn't back away. "Hello, my friend," Zemo greets, "this is for your family." You don't see what it is at first, only that he takes something out of his coat pocket and gives it to her. It's only as she tucks it away that you can make out the note. Euro? Pound? You're not sure what currency Latvia uses, but you did spot the five hundred mark on it. "Can you show us the way?"

The girl waves him over, and a quick look over your shoulder lets you know everyone's now on board with the mission.

"What the hell," you hear John murmur from the back. Truthfully, you'd questioned Zemo's method at first too. Even if you'd had a similar line of thought, there wasn't any guarantee it'd work out. The girl could've easily taken the Turkish Delight and had been done with the whole thing. Money, though? Definitely something people could use right now; especially if that place you'd been to was where she lived.

Luckily, the trip isn't long. The building just up ahead had been the right destination, but the girl takes you around the side and through a back door that leads to what you can only assume is a bakery. Or maybe it was an electrical station? A laundry house? Crematorium? You're unsure, really. Within the room there's another set of tiled stairs that leads to somewhere else. The girl opens the metal door and turns back to all of you, pointing up the extra set of stairs within.

"Karli's in there," Zemo states, as if a translator was needed.

"All right," Sam comments, heading after the girl up the stairs. Contemplating quickly rediscussing the plan with Sam, you take a few steps before a groan brings your attention back. John has Zemo pushed up against one of the ovens.

"Hey," John calls out to Sam, "you got ten minutes-"

"Really?" Zemo asks, evidently annoyed. The sound of handcuffs fills the silent room, and you can't say you're unsurprised by John's actions.

"-then we're doing things my way," John threatens.

"Aggressive," the Baron comments, eyeing John with a dangerous look in his eye, "but I get it." When he smirks, you can't help but look away. Whether it's the reminder that this man is conniving, or that you'd given yourself up to him in the most intimate of ways, you're uncertain. Really, that night he'd been the complete opposite of everything everyone who'd warned you about Zemo claimed him to be.

You're not unlike any other girl. Everyone likes it rough from time to time, and the thought that perhaps maybe he does too might stir something within you. It's... something you're unwilling to give thought to at the moment. Nevertheless, it'd been a one night stand; you're well aware of the man that he is, the man you've witnessed incapacitate multiple men. How you feel about that, on the other hand, is something you've yet to give yourself time to determine.

Sitting on the stairs, you've given up noticing all the small details within both the room you're in, and what you can see of the adjoining one. Bucky leans against the railing beside you, while John and his friend lean against the wall across from where Zemo stands, still handcuffed to the oven.

It's been quiet, though you'd tried to make small talk here and there to no fruitful discussion. From time to time you could feel Zemo's eyes on you, or Bucky spare a glance, but it was only natural considering sitting still in silence for ten minutes gives you limited options. Besides, it's not like you hadn't gazed over them once or twice either.

Now John's pacing, and you know that can't be good considering soldier's, as you know, are notorious for their impatience. Meeting Bucky's gaze, you offer a nervous look, to which he imperceptibly shakes his head. 'It's nothing to be worried about' is what his eyes say. Even if you both know that's a lie.

While Zemo's fingers bend and shift subconsciously clueing you into the fact that he's deep in thought, you find yourself too, starting to really ponder. And even if you can't pinpoint his thoughts, yours drift to the past seventy two hours.

The more time passes, the more John starts to pace, no longer taking breaks as he continuously walks back and forth the length of the floor. "Uh-uh," he says to himself, "no- no, no, this is a bad idea."

As he approaches Bucky again, the Soldier raises his eyes to meet John's figure, only for the Captain to back away again. You almost miss it, the way Zemo glances at his handcuffs. If you didn't know better you'd think he was only trying to eye John in his periphery, but no. No, can't be, can it? He's smarter than that. Ten minutes? Ten minutes and you're not thinking about how to get out of those cuffs? You'd be stupid to think otherwise.

As soon as the Baron's eyes shift, your eyes flick over to John. They're close enough, surely he didn't notice. Hopefully, you think.

"It hasn't been ten minutes, John," Bucky breaks the silence, "just sit tight," he advises.

"Don't do that," John argues, "don't patronize me." The agitation is evident in his tone. It's only a matter of time before a fight breaks out, you just know it. A palpable feeling in the air, a sense, or maybe just anxiety. Either way, dread starts to seep into your chest.

"He knows what he's doing," Bucky assures him. Opting to stand, your butt having started to hurt, your arms cross over your own chest. Whether it's a subconscious closing off toward the raging testosterone in the room, or an imitation of Bucky's intimidation is unknown.

"Yeah," you agree, hoping to voice some sense of calm and reassurance.

John doesn't pay any of you mind though. Standing at the end of the aisle he stares at the wall, a hardened look on his face, and it feels impossible to tell what he's thinking. All you know is it can't be good.

Just as that thought crosses your mind, John's striding back over to the two of you with determination. "I'm goin' in," he declares. Taking a step backward up onto the next step on the stairs, Bucky doesn't hesitate to throw a hand onto the man's chest, effectively blocking him.

You feel like your breath is stuck in your chest as the Captain's friend sidles up to him, both of them apparently on the same page. John's eyes slowly rise up to meet Bucky's face, having been glaring down at the impediment. "This is all really easy for you, isn't it?" The man asks.

A look of confusion crosses your face as your brows pinch together slightly. Does he mean this entire situation, or does he mean...? Bucky has been through war, you know that. He was an Avenger, too, wasn't he?

"All that serum runnin' through your veins," John continues, unknowingly answering your question. Part of you knew. You just knew what he meant, but... what did it matter? The hatred in John's eyes only further elicit more questions. Mainly, is he trying to convince Bucky to join him, or suggest that he's a part of the problem? As he looks toward the room behind you, you figure the former. "Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?"

The whole room goes silent. You know Bucky's contemplating it; you'd be lying if you said you weren't. Yet, ultimately it's another half minute before Bucky asserts that if John's going, they're all going together. One look at Zemo from both men leaves you torn. A sigh escapes your lips before you assure them you'll watch the Baron. Of course the man needs a babysitter, right? Regardless, if there's about to be a brawl then you certainly would hope, at best, to stay uninvolved.

The momentary deliberation is enough time for the men to distract Bucky as John and his friend shove their way past, the two of them taking off. Bucky follows suit. Jaw dropped, you take a few steps after them, uncertain in whether you should help Bucky stop them and let Sam handle this alone, or make sure Zemo doesn't get free.

With that, there's a metallic clinking behind you that leaves you whipping your head around. Face to face with the spoken Devil himself, he's free. "What do you think you're doing?!" It comes out louder than you'd intended, but with the way the tension's exploded in the room, you can't hold back the nerves that've been eating away at you inside.

"We have to stop Karli," Zemo asserts. As he attempts to sidestep you, you sidestep in time with him, blocking his path. "We cannot waste anymore time! If she gets away, we are all dead." There's a moment of eye contact; the determination on both of your faces surely rival one another, and while there's an unbridled anger beneath the surface of his irises, yours shifts into one of understanding upon consideration of his words.

Yet, you're not quick enough. Even if you might foolishly decide to trust him on this, which you don't, he takes advantage of your hesitancy. Hand on your shoulder, he's pushing you aside more roughly than you'd like, but not hard enough to tip you over, just enough to get you out of his way. Stumbling, you quickly regain balance before running after him.

In the span of minutes, you're running from room to room after a man who navigates the maze of a building with an uncanny sense of certainty. There's no time to question it, no time to wonder where he's going or if he's even leading you in the right direction. How would he even know? Regardless, it's only as you come to a stop in a darkened room lit only by the rays of sun streaming through the little windows atop the walls that Zemo stops.

It looks like a cellar, almost, racks with medical instruments, a table with scientific equipment laid strewn across it. You know what this is, and yet you also can't mentally process that it is what's right in front of you. Super Soldier Serum. Right here, in the flesh, sitting in a vacutainer. "How did you know-?" You question, only to be interrupted.

"Shh!" Zemo demands, pulling you into the shadows by your sleeve. The hurried sound of footsteps bounding closer and closer rings out in the cavernous room. Anxiety wells up again in your belly as there's no telling who it is. Friend, or foe? With only so many days in the boys' company, you've wound up in this situation far too often for your liking.

Both of you breathing hard, still trying to catch your breath after sprinting through the building, it's much harder to keep quiet than you would've thought. It takes the mental task of counting your breath in and out to ease the blood running through your veins.

Hidden behind a series of big pipes, his focus isn't on you as he pulls something from within his jacket. The shiny silver color of what can only be a gun reflects in the spots of sunlight streaming this far into the room. He ejects the chamber and counts the rounds. "It's not fair you get a gun," you state annoyedly. Apparently everyone else is seemingly always prepared for this, except you. Granted, this wasn't a part of the plan!

"Well, next gun you find, be my guest, Schatz," Zemo whispers, eyeing you with a look you can't place. It only lasts a moment, however, as he reloads the gun and peers around the pillar. Suddenly, there's the loud creak of a metal door opening before it slams shut, footsteps bounding down the stairs you'd seen at the front of the room when you'd been snooping.

Whoever's approaching is doing so fast, and you know you're going to have to face them. Zemo takes charge; turning the corner, he pops up, shots fired! A frustrated groan leaves the person's lips and you're quick to follow suit, popping up to see who you're up against. It's her. Shit, it's Karli! A super soldier. Shot after shot is fired and instinct drives into action.

"Stop!" You yell, beelining after him. There's a loud bang as you see the metal table topple over, everything crashing to the floor and scattering everywhere. "You can't kill her! She's just a girl!"

Just as she pokes her head out, another shot is fired. He comes to a stop just before the table, giving you more than enough time to catch up. You attempt to tackle him, jumping onto him, trying to reach around for the gun. A groan leaves him, and you struggle. The man shifts his body with enough force to toss you off and onto the ground. "Really?" He says with an obvious tone of disappointment. "You are either part of the solution, or part of the problem, Liebling! Make your choice."

"This wasn't the plan," you remind him, breathing heavy on the floor.

"Maybe not yours, but it was always the final outcome," he responds. Just as movement's heard from behind the table another shot rings out and you flinch. Springing to your feet, you grab ahold of his wrist, long enough to stall him from any further damage. "Guess you're part of the problem." Kneeing him in the thigh, you yank his arm downward with enough force for the gun to fall from his grasp. In a swift movement, Zemo turns on you, his elbow right behind.

Next thing you know, you're on the floor. Things are blurry, and your head is spinning, but you can make out the blue vials on the concrete.

"Is this what I-" you hear him say, yet it feels like you're hearing him from underwater. It feels like having to force yourself to see what's before you. The heaviness of your body and your eyelids, is far too much. It feels as though things are unfolding before you like a foreign movie, no way for you to take part, change the outcome, or even understand what's going on.

Another ringing shot resounds throughout the room and there's a series of smashing that follows. "No! No!" You hear someone cry.

--------

You'd woken with a raging headache and a barrage of questions directed your way. The room still felt like it was swaying, and while your mind raced with thoughts and answers, it was as if there was a lump in your throat. That made it hard to speak at first, and while you'd held your head, the boys moved you over to the table. Sam seemed busy on his computer while Bucky had taken over checking you out.

A few tablets later and an encouraged full glass of water downed, you feel a lot more alert. "Ow!" You exclaim, immediately turning your head to the side. "What the hell, Bucky?"

He turns off his phone's flashlight before setting the device down on the table. "At least we know it's not a concussion," he says, as if the explanation is an apology. "Really, you should be lying down."

"Was it Karli?" Sam asks, momentarily pausing his typing to tap into the conversation. His gaze is intent and serious, he wants to know whether or not she was the one who hurt you. A shake of your head leaves their expressions souring. "Then who?"

Lips pursing, you avert their gaze, considering what'll happen if you tell them the truth. Yet, you also couldn't care less what happens to Zemo. "He knocked me out," you answer quietly, eyes shifting over to the unconscious man on the couch.

"What?" Bucky practically growls, eyes darting toward the Baron.

"He was shooting at her, and I-" a breath forces itself from your lungs as you recall the recent memory, "-I tried to stop him. We got into it, and he hit me... that's all I remember before, you know." Gesturing to yourself, it's upon that realization that a thoughtful expression overtakes your features. "What happened after that?"

"Jesus," Sam curses, and you swear you can read his thoughts. The guilt is all over his face. He thinks it's his fault that this happened. "Should've known he'd try something. Why'd you-" Sam turns his anger on Bucky as the Soldier gets up.

"He was Special Forces. Makes sense," Bucky states. As he heads over to the bathroom, you figure he's exiting the conversation. It'd already been enough of a mess when John had decided that seven minutes surely equated the ten he'd promised Sam. You can't blame Bucky for distancing himself from the aftermath.

"That doesn't mean tha-" Sam argues, hand balling up into a fist on the table. "You shouldn't have had t-" he turns to you now, a much more gentle tone. Though for whatever reason, he stops himself short. Shaking his head, he looks over his shoulder at Zemo's unconscious figure with a frown before refocusing on you. "At least you did the right thing."

"We're pretty sure that John took care of Zemo considering we'd found him over both of you when we got there," Bucky explains upon returning.

"It's why we didn't immediately assume Zemo, even if I would've bet money on it," Sam adds.

You sip at the second glass of water you'd been given, not too enthused by Bucky's stoicism. Yet, when he plops back down in the chair he'd dragged before yours, both facing each other, he's folding a wet wash cloth. "Here," he offers. Despite whatever feelings are brewing within, you take the generosity.

When Zemo finally wakes, you've already caught up on everything that'd happened between Sam and Karli. The Baron's gasp elicits everyone's attention. It only takes a minute to get out of him that he'd been in the process of destroying all the Super Soldier Serum when John had apparently thrown his shield straight into the Baron's skull.

"Karma," you mutter, too out of it to fully smile, even if something more akin to a smirk displays itself on your lips.

Zemo doesn't respond for once, simple utterances of pained noises and groans escaping the man as he questions why you've been attended to, but he isn't. "After you knocked her out? I don't think so," Sam says, voice laced with incredulity.

"Even before that, yeah, it'd be a 'No'." Bucky adds, and you're not sure you entirely love that sentiment. "Guess you made it your mission to get everyone on your bad list, huh?" It's obviously a joke, you know that... yet there's something in you that contemplates his words.

Eyes shifting over toward the Baron for the second time since he'd regained consciousness, your eyes meet. There's an unspoken conversation between you; even in complete silence, telltale feelings are exchanged there. Within his hazel eyes is what you can only chalk up to a tacit question of: Is he right? There's a hint of something akin to sadness... what you'd hope is possibly regret, guilt, or an inkling of something apologetic.

Realistically, on the other hand, you know it's probably just your imagination filling in the absence of reasoning. On your end, you know there's similar feelings in yourself. The key difference is you know there's disappointment, betrayal, and hurt there, too.

It was only a fleeting moment, the eye contact, but you force yourself to close that door. Turning away, Bucky offers to get you something to eat while you attempt to relax and recuperate, lying on the window seat across the open floorplan. With that, he's off. In the tension of the room, with unspoken resentments, and disagreeing morals, another silence overtakes the apartment. Only this time, it's uncomfortable.

It's Zemo who breaks this silence. Even after he'd gotten up and poured himself a drink, along with grabbing his own wet washcloth, things hadn't lessened in their intensity. "Were you offered it?" The Baron prods. This captures your attention, though it's impossible to tell who he's asking. To make matters worse, the subject is still up in the air.

"What?" Sam responds, assuming it was for him.

"The serum," Zemo clarifies, before tacking your name onto it. "-the question extends to you as well." And you can feel his heedy stare on you.

"No," Sam answers definitively, and you can see a hint of amusement on his face from where you're lying. Understandably, it was an odd question. When you don't respond in tandem, Zemo seems to move on.

"If you had been, hypothetically, that is, would you haven taken it?" The Baron takes it a step further.

"No." Sam's quick to say. There's a moment of silence, and you find your friend's gaze flicking up to you from his computer.

"No," you iterate, not having thought your response would be unobvious.

"No hesitation. That's impressive," Zemo compliments before you spot the washcloth move from his forehead, the Baron now alert. "You, however, hesitated," he points out.

"I'm tired of your questions," you bite, "that's why."

"Yet, you would consider taking it?" The Baron furthers, gaze intent on you across the room.

"Look, st-" Sam starts, attempting to pacify the friction. You'd already been drug into this because of Zemo's righteousness, and you're ready to pounce. "-op antagonizing her. You've already done enough."

"No. Being a hero is overrated," you admit, "I just wasn't expecting the question."

"I am not antagonizing," Zemo defends, something shifting in his eyes. A darkness you've begun to see more and more today, it seems.

"You knocked her out! I think you've done enough. She's on our side, and you had to go an-" Sam's interrupted.

"Karli was getting away! I could not let that happen," Zemo argues.

"Yet, you had to go and make things weird," Sam retorts, swiveling in his chair to fully face the Baron. "Fine." Hands up, it's clear he's unwilling to fight any longer. You also don't need him to fight on your behalf, but at this point you don't really want to entice more conversation from the Baron.

Zemo finally seems to accept your answers, as he sighs heavily. There's a 'tsk' followed by a shake of his head. "You two cannot hold out hope for Karli," he begins, "No matter what you saw in her. She's gone."

There's a big part of you that doesn't want to give him the floor to speak, the air to talk and spread his extremist ideals. Yet, there's another part that can understand what he's saying, and where he's coming from. Eyes flicking between the two men, it's clear Sam isn't going to interrupt, and if he isn't, you'd be damned to do so either.

"And we cannot allow that she and her acolytes become yet another faction of gods amongst real people. Super Soldiers cannot be allowed to exist." Zemo states it all with a confidence and pride that draws a heaviness to the air in the room. It's definitive, radical, and more than anything... dangerous.

All you can do is sit there, your mind drifting back to Bucky, to Steve. How easy is it to say such a thing when the one person in your group who this tirade revolves around is no longer present?

"Isn't that how gods talk?" Sam rebuttles. "And if that's how you feel, what about Bucky?" He'd taken the words right out of your mouth. Great minds think alike, you suppose. Yet, surprisingly, Zemo hasn't refuted anything so far. "Blood isn't always the solution."

The sound of a latch clicking signals the said Soldier's return. How funny, or coincidental... you're not sure which one. The man strides into the room stripping off his jacket. "Something's not right about Walker," he states. Always straight to business with this one, you think.

"You don't say," Sam quips sarcastically.

"He was a soldier," you point out with an amused breath.

"Hey," Sam says in a warning tone, eyeing you with his own mirth.

"Well, I know a crazy when I see one," Bucky comments, pouring himself a glass of something amber in nature. You can only assume it's whiskey. "Because I am crazy." Glancing toward you, it's unclear whether this joke--which you're not entirely sure it is--was due to your comment, or he's being sincere.

"Can't argue with that," Sam replies.

"Shouldn't have given him the shield," Bucky changes topics. You know what he means. John Walker is probably the antithesis of what America stands for, in your opinion. Or at least from what you'd seen of him, which, admittedly, was enough.

"I didn't give him the shield," Sam retorts, frustration ebbing into his tone as he stands from the table and heads over to confront the Soldier.

"Well, Steve definitely didn't," Bucky adds, sipping at his drink.

The sound of wood splitting and doors slamming resound loudly throughout the apartment. "All right," you know that voice, "That's it. Let's go!" It's John Walker. Speak of the Devil. "I'm now ordering you to turn him over," the Captain commands, pointing toward Zemo.

"Great, here we go again," you state annoyedly, no longer willing to hold back your judgmental thoughts. Though, the headache might have something to do with it, too. Sam immediately turns from his position at the counter, meeting the Captain and his friend halfway.

"Hey, slow your roll, Man," Sam encourages. "Let's be clear, shield or no shield the only thing you're runnin' in here is your mouth." He's never been one to sugarcoat things, that's for sure. While you'd sat up, you haven't moved from your spot on the couch at the back of the apartment.

While the men talk, you're completely aware of Zemo's movements. Carrying the decanter and his half-full glass toward you, the mental eye roll is threatening to present itself physically.

"Now, I had Karli and you overstepped," Sam continues, now pointing toward Zemo. "Now, he's actually proven himself useful today. We'll need all hands on deck for whatever's comin' next."

"How do you want the rest of this conversation to go, Sam, huh?" John questions, an ominous tone in his voice that you don't like. And while it's hard to take your eyes off the sight before you, worried about how this'll all unfold, you glance over at Bucky. The Soldier is leaning against the counter, drink in hand. He must feel your stare as he meets your eye for a split second, and you know you're both curious and frustrated at how you're more than sure the conversation will play out.

John scoffs. "Yeah, should I put down the shield? Make it fair?" The amusement bleeding into his demeanor only irks you. While cockiness can be admirable on a man, there's also a fine line between prideful and egotistical. As Sam scoffs in response, John does exactly as he'd offered and puts his shield down against the pillar by the table.

"Holy shit!" You yell much louder than you'd intended. Jumping up out of instinct, there's now a spear embedded in the pillar where John's head had just been. Everyone's eyes fall to the woman who'd thrown it.

Yet, in the second you'd spotted her, there's two more similarly dressed women striding in through the apartment's open doors with spears in hand. You might not know much about the place or their customs, but you can guess they're the Wakandans. No one else speaks as the women stop just behind John and his friend, caging them in between your opposing groups.

One of them speaks up in a language you do not recognize. While you're unsure what they're saying, it's only when you look around at everyone that they say something in English. And that, you understand: "Release him to us now." It's a command, not a request. Their eyes fall onto Zemo who stands a few feet in front of you. Of course, you realize, he'd killed their leader... hadn't he?

"Hi," John says as he turns to greet them. "John Walker. Captain America," he introduces himself. "Well, let's uh, put down the pointy sticks and we can talk this through, huh?" Oh no... what'd he just say?!

"Hey John," Sam warns, "take it easy. You might wanna fight Bucky before you tangle with the Dora Milaje." And while there's a hint of amusement seeped in his tone, you know he's not joking. A glance over at the Soldier tells you that he's mentally preoccupied. For whatever reason, he won't meet their gazes. What's there? Because there's clearly some history you're unaware of.

"The Dora Milaje don't have jurisdiction here," John voices in a tone that you can only attribute to the condescension of when someone manplains something to women. So, this is the Dora that Bucky had talked about earlier, then.

"And you do?" The words fall past your lips before you can stop them. You're not sure where your sudden bravery came from, but you're unwilling to go back now. Sam and the women gaze at you momentarily, though while John doesn't divert his attention, you can see the way his hand balls up into a fist at his side.

"The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be," the woman replies in a cold and menacing tone. The clock is ticking again, and you know the countdown to a fight is fastly approaching. You can just feel it.

Regardless of whether or not what the women are describing sounds awfully similar to hitmen and vigilante justice, you don't question it. If even Sam thinks they're more of a threat than Bucky, you're concerned. Certainly not people to be trifled with. Even when the Soldier had mentioned them earlier himself, he'd sounded worried in his own way.

"Okay," John responds with a wry laugh, "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot." It's as if things happen in slow motion. You see John going in for a pat to her shoulder when she skirts out of his grasp and knocks his hand back with her spear in hand. Next she's hitting his forehead with it before kicking him backward into the spear already embedded into the pillar, effectively clotheslining him from behind.

That's when things flip. Suddenly, things are happening fast. John's on his stomach one second, then he has his shield. The woman does a flip over him, stabbing the shield before throwing her spear toward his friend. It almost hits his head, but another woman across the room catches it swiftly, swinging it around. The third woman is leaping over the couch and targeted on the Captain's friend.

Your heart is racing, adrenaline starting to kick in as you watch in trepidation. Zemo is standing there drinking, and Sam backs up to Bucky's side. "We should do something," Sam proposes. Yet, Bucky's still standing by the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Looking strong, John," he jokes.

Wordless, you watch as the Captain's friend is being strangled by one of the woman's spears, trapped in a chokehold, while the other approaches him with her own spear at the ready. Simultaneously, John is still fighting the other woman, until he's not. On his knee, John's faced with a spear aimed right at him. Both men are teetering on the edge.

"Bucky," you hear Sam shout warningly.

It's only then as the spear's coming down on John that Bucky steps in. He says something, but you're distracted by the way the Captain's friend is in a losing fight.

"Let's talk about this," Bucky offers. As Sam steps in to protect the other man, you spot the subtle shift of Zemo's head and the way he puts down his drink. Nuh-uh. Not happening. Taking off in the direction he'd looked, you run toward the bathroom, Zemo hot on your trail.

You both knock shoulders as you make it to the door. Slipping in, he bumps you out of the way as he turns and locks the doors. "What're you doing?" He questions, a frantic look in his eye.

"I don't know!" You admit, eyes quickly searching his own for something, anything.

"If you're not here to help me, you're in my way," he warns. There's something foreboding in his tone, yet you're also highly aware that he is giving you an opportunity. "Please do not make this harder than it needs to be."

"You gonna knock me out again?" You question, a stern look on your face. No longer will you play nice.

Zemo scoffs, shaking his head as he rounds the bathtub. "I did not mean to do that. I was trying to stall you," he explains. "Help me." As he places his hands on the tub and begins to push, you might curiously question what his aim is, even if somehow you subconsciously know.

And maybe it's the fool in you, the hopeless romantic, or the little girl that could only dream of romance, passion, even simply an adventure beyond the confines of a book... but you help him. Breath held tight in your chest, it burns as you both push the tub aside, only to uncover a manhole. It'd been easier than you'd thought, but it weighed a ton.

"Honest?" You finally ask, wanting to know if any of it was real, or all a manipulation. His one chance at something good before his ultimate reprisal in prison.

"Honest," he responds, tone much gentler and sincere. Reminiscent of that night. A softness overtakes his features as he stares down at you, and you can feel the vulnerability of everything shining through your irises back at him. "Even if we disagree on the method, I believe there is more in common between us than you'd ever care to admit to them."

"I know," you whisper, taking a step closer toward him. He doesn't retreat, but stays put, his hazel eyes searching yours for something, even if you're not quite sure what.

"Unfortunately, there was never going to be another outcome," he admits, "Otherwise, I would've liked to explore," he seems to struggle for the appropriate word, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, "this."

"Me too," you reply, a sadness building within your chest and making your face feel hot for some reason.

"I'm afraid this is goodbye, Liebling." With that, he stoops, angling your face upward to meet his lips. It's a firm, chaste press of your lips against one another. Your hands find his biceps, only for him to part from you. The hand that'd been on your cheek swiftly pushes your hair backward over your ear, fingers trailing through your hair.

"Goodbye, Helmut," you whisper, watching him retreat down the ladder of metal bars into the tunnel. There's one last look shared between the two of you before he takes off. His boots thud against the concrete, splashes echoing only for a moment before a loud crash elicits a gasp from you.

Turning toward the door, you brace for it to be knocked down, landing on your knees. There's a rush of wind, and you cover your face with your arm. "Where is he?!" Lowering your arm again, your stomach sinks with dread. It's her. The leader of the Dora Milaje.

"I- I don't-" you stutter, kneeling on the ground above the opened manhole.

"You let him-" she begins to accuse, twirling her spear in hand.

"I tried to stop him!" You yell in response. "He went that way." Pointing down the hole, you can only pray she doesn't kill you here and now.

"She's on our side," Bucky calls out, causing the woman to stop. Turning, she walks back out, expression unreadable. It sits somewhere between stoicism and anger, a look eerily similar to ones you've seen on Bucky. Maybe that's where he'd gotten it from. Just a thought.

"He is gone. Leave it," the Dora commands, striding toward where you know the apartment's front door is. The other Dora throws down the shield before following suit. A heavy sigh leaves your lips and you stare down the manhole, unsure what to think. You'd just helped an international terrorist escape custody. And he kissed you!

"Did you know they could do that?" You hear Sam ask. Finally turning your attention away from what'd just happened, you stand, dusting off your pants. While many thoughts and emotions run through your body, there'll be time to process what'd just happened later.

Watching Bucky reattach his arm to his body, your lips part in shock. It'd never crossed your mind, you hadn't even thought... "No," Bucky responds, a faint groan slipping past his lips as he moves his fingers, testing his arm, you suspect.

"You alright, man?" The Captain's friend asks as he comes to stand over John's shoulder, the man still kneeling where you assume he'd been beaten down. Slowly moving to the doorway of the bathroom, you try not to let your thoughts continue to cloud your mind.

"They weren't even Super Soldiers," John points out in a defeated tone. The man's practically despondent, and you can't necessarily blame him. For someone who's supposed to be Captain America, he got his ass whooped.

"That was my question, yeah," you add, quietly. It'd crossed your mind when you'd seen that woman flip so effortlessly into the air. Considering your mission and everything that's been going on, it only made sense.

"Come on," John's friend encourages him, helping the man up off the floor.

As both Bucky and Sam approach you, you turn sideways to allow them a view of the bathroom. "I can't believe he really had an escape hatch," you state. It's earnest, even if you might've aided in permitting the escape to take place.

"I can't believe he pulled an El Chapo," Sam comments, staring at the scene.

"I can," Bucky states in his usual stoicism. "Come on," he demands.

Out on the streets of Latvia, you have no clue where Bucky's leading you all, yet you aimlessly follow anyway. A sudden ringing elicits your attention, Sam has a phone call. While you can't hear what's being said, you try to piece together what's happening based off his response to it.

"She said what?! Right. Hold on, hold on, I know," he states firmly, "I know. Listen, pack an overnight bag and take the boys. I'll text you directions later."

"What happened?" Bucky asks, and while you both stare at Sam with concern, distress evident in his voice, you hadn't had the balls to ask.

"Karli called Sarah. She threatened my nephews," Sam responds before lifting the phone back up again. "Okay. Go somewhere safe, only pay cash. Alright? Let me know when you get there." There's a pause, Sarah obviously having concerns. "I know. Look, I love you. I'll never let anything happen to you or the boys, you know that. Okay. Bye."

As his phone call ends, Sam comes to a halt, the three of you stepping to the side of the sidewalk. "Karli wants to meet. She left a contact number," Sam states, lifting his phone again. This time you're able to see what's on his screen. It's a text exchange with an unknown number.

'This is Sam. Sarah told me you want to talk.' reads the sent text. A ping rings out as a reply comes through. 'The rooftop above North Plaza. Now. Come alone.'

"Crap," Sam curses under his breath. With a click of his phone the screen darkens and he tucks it back into his pocket. Finally raising his head again he turns his attention to you. "Look," he states your name, "I know things didn't exactly go as planned here, but I need a favor. Go to the airport, get on a plane, and head to Louisiana." He shakes his head slightly before putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. "I need Buck here, and I don't know exactly how this is all gonna go down, so, if you wouldn't mind checking on Sarah for me, I'll owe you one."

It's a request. Albeit, no true upward inflection to indicate so, but... a question nonetheless. One you can't really, nor would, decline. "Yeah, I'll go, make sure they're okay." Offering him a small smile, he mirrors it back.

"Just... stay with them, if you can, till I get back. I don't think it'll be more than a few days, and, please, God, don't tell Sarah I sent you. She'd have my head! Woman can take care of herself, Lord knows," Sam chuckles at the thought.

"Got it," you respond, smile widening at the thought. Sam had mentioned her a few times, so you'd heard a few great and funny stories. Meeting her in person though? That might be another thing. Regardless, if Sam is as good of a person as he is, then she'll probably be the same.

"I'll tell her you're coming, she'll be at the airport waiting," he assures you. With that, you hug the man before eyeing Bucky. The Soldier doesn't seem like the hugging type, but you offer him a smile and nod.

"Just... talk to her. End this, and... be safe, okay?" You beg, starting to walk backward away from them.

"We'll do our best," Bucky responds, a knowing smile on his lips. With that, it seems like your time in Latvia has come to an end. Onto the next thing. Louisiana, here you come!

~~~~~~~~

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[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Seven: Temperature Rising

The Missing Title

Helmut Zemo x Reader | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: After your friends find out you've been sick, whose to say going to the doctor isn't worthwhile? Once your life is turned upside down, you're left scrambling to pick up the pieces and stick by your choices. Because, who's to judge if not for your friends, right?

Words: 11.3k

Warnings: Manipulation, Talk of Cancer, Medical Talk, Doctor's Office, Talk of Abortions, Pregnancy, Angst, Mention of Sexual Assault, Yelling, Slut-Shaming (from reader's pov),

Mentions of: Bodily Fluids, Unprotected Sex,

A/N: And there it is! The plot I've been waiting for. It's wild because, on one hand, it's only just starting, and on the other-? Well, who's to say where it will go? I definitely have a whole plot after this of what's to come, and no it's not just boring 'guy steps in for father who's not there'. Yes, there may be some of that. But overall? Ahhh! There's so much more.

Last night had been a blur; bits and pieces of memory are there, but you're still recuperating from the fainting spell you'd endured. Just dehydrated, you repeat in your mind, that's all it was. While there was no way to be certain aside from going to urgent care--something Sarah and Sam insist you do--you're almost positive that's all it was. You've never done well with the heat, and Louisiana just pulled one over on you.

The rest of the evening had entailed argument, everyone asserting their opinions and positions on the matter of whether or not you went to the doctor.

It wasn't that you couldn't afford it--you could. While you don't have insurance anymore, which doesn't help the situation, you just don't think there's probable need.

When Sarah disagreed, citing the fact that you'd been displaying symptoms of a stomach bug or possible cold in the past week and a half, you can't argue with that. Ultimately, you cave. The Wilson siblings wouldn't stop their worrying till you agreed, and really, if that's what it took to get them to stop pestering you, then so be it. A doctor's trip it is.

Besides, it's one thing to agree, another thing to do. The closest doctor is what..? Over a half hour away, and realistically, when would you even go?

'Headed to the market w/ Sarah, be back soon.' -Sam

The lopsided signature at the bottom of the note on the kitchen countertop makes you smile. It looks like you're left to your own devices with the kids and Bucky.

You vaguely remember someone mentioning need of going to the store last night, but with everything that'd happened it's hard to recall exactly.

Most of the morning goes smoothly. You'd woken midmorning when the sunlight finally streamed through the lacy curtains and onto your face. The boys had gotten up early, their bodies still accustomed to it from their routine in getting ready for school. So, really, the only one still asleep was Bucky. A rarity, you'd think, considering he was a soldier.

With the boys fed before their mom and uncle went to the store, you decided to go with them down to the dock to inspect the boat and all the hard work the men have been putting in. So far, it's making some real progress. It'll only be a matter of time until it's back up and running in ideal conditions again.

After a walk around the property, exploring the forest and attempting to make a fortress out of sticks for approximately fifteen minutes, the boys tire of that objective and get hungry. With it being closer to afternoon now, you decide lunch is in order.

Scraping peanut butter out of the jar with a knife, you spread it along the three sandwiches you're making. Watching AJ and Cass play fight in slow motion like they're superheroes is amusing, albeit something you'd discouraged considering Bucky's asleep on the couch. You suppose he's tuckered out from the late night work he'd been doing with Sam on the boat last night.

While they'd promised to be quiet and help you make their lunch originally when you'd come in, once they got bored and started playing... there was no reeling them back to the task at hand. Typical, you think. Nevertheless, you can't be mad watching them play Avengers. The silliness alone in their childlike wonder of the world leaves you feeling hopeful.

With the sandwiches finally done, you return the peanut butter to its place on the counter while the jelly gets put back in the fridge. There's still the leftover lemonade you all had made yesterday. That could be good, right? Lemonade and PB&Js? Eh... maybe not, but, you like lemonade, so, why not! Placing the pitcher on the counter, your attention's pulled into the living room.

"Hey!" It's quiet, but a voice you recognize nonetheless. They'd woken Bucky. Great.

"Put it back!" AJ commands his younger brother quietly. You'd been too preoccupied with making lunch to notice exactly what it was they were playing with. It's the Captain America shield. It... couldn't be the real one though, right? "Hurry, hurry!" As Cass slips the shield back into its case and they run out of the room, you're struck again by the way Bucky has a genuine smile on his face.

It's as soon as his fingers drop from the wave he'd sent the boys that you snap back into the moment.

"I think you're forgetting something!" You call after the boys, reminding them of their lunch with a laugh. They're silly, but, you'd expect nothing less from them. Kids being kids? That's something you'll always enjoy. Too often it feels like you've seen more and more of them forced to grow up too quickly with social media or trauma. Knowing Sarah's raising them right just proves that even if it usually feels like the whole world... it's not. There are still good people out there, you just don't always see them.

"'Afternoon," you finally acknowledge the man on the couch. Pouring yourself some lemonade, you debate getting the others a glass.

"Afternoon," he responds, stretching before he sits up, twisting and turning like an old man who needs to get all the creaks and cricks out before starting his day.

Though, you suppose he is an old man. It just hardly ever crosses your mind, something you'd have to make it a point to remember. "Are you hungry? I just made the boys some PB and Js if you want one. Totally get it if you don't though," you chuckle, "not really how I'd want to start off the day."

"No?" He jokes, "what's wrong with starting off with a classic? Gotta have something." Standing, he approaches the other side of the counter.

"So you want one?" You question, raising an eyebrow suspiciously, considering he hadn't really answered.

"Sure," he finally says. It's the giggles and 'shhh's coming from the hallway that elicit both of your attention. "I won't bite, you know," Bucky tosses out placatingly, offering them a smile.

While the boys hide in the partial darkness of the hallway, they finally take tentative steps forward until they're about to grab for their sandwiches. "Ahh!" Bucky finally pounces with his hands up, fingers bent as he chases them back the way they'd come.

It's only after a few minutes of screeching, laughter, and stomps throughout the house that the boys return alone and grab their sandwiches, glasses of lemonade, and head for the table. "He's funny," Cass comments.

While you eat at the counter, not having put away the ingredients you'd brought back out for Bucky's sandwich, you listen to their conversation. "He certainly can be," you add.

"Who's your favorite Avenger, Miss-?" AJ says your name. The two moving back onto one of their favorite topics.

"Mm," you hum in thought, peanut butter still coating the top of your mouth. You think about it for a moment, not truly having a favorite like you know some of the kids and people you've seen online do. Albeit, being around that scene now and having met some of the people, it makes things a lot more complicated. Swallowing, you finally answer. "Maybe Ant-Man? Or Spider-Man," You test. "Saying Falcon would be a bit too on-the-nose, huh?"

"Ant-Man's cool!" AJ exclaims, lighting up as he takes another bite of his sandwich.

"No, he's not," Cass argues, a frown overtaking his features.

"Yes, he is! Think about it- if he can-" AJ continues to prattle on as the sound of a flushing toilet and the emergence of Bucky tells you where he's been.

"It might be a bit too flattering if you'd said that," the Soldier comments, clearly having heard your conversation from the hallway bathroom.

"Ah," you laugh, head hanging as you collect yourself, unaware he'd been listening. "Yeah, that's what I'd think too. I mean, surely Falcon isn't your guys' favorite, now- right?" You turn the question back on the boys, even if you're more than sure you've subconsciously overheard their favorites now more than once over the past week or so that you've been here.

"Hulk!" Cass answers with a bright smile. "He's so cool! He's all like-"

"Thor," AJ answers, "though Hulk is pretty cool too," he shrugs, conceding with his little brother. "You know Thor can go to othe..." The boys converse amongst themselves, and Bucky's eyeing the untouched sandwich on the plate beside yours.

A tacit raised eyebrow from him leaves you nodding as his fingers sneak up and pull the plate toward him. "Didn't know what jelly you liked," you warn, to which he shakes his head.

"It's fine," he assures you quietly.

"What about you?" Cass turns his attention on Bucky, the two of them clearly having warmed up to his presence by now. With everyone's attention on him, he pauses for a moment.

The question clearly sparks a moment of silence as you can see the way it elicits a sort of reminiscence from him. "Captain America," he answers, though his tone feels heavier now. Whatever jovial spark had been there before feels like it's dimmed. A soft smile is tossed the boy's way before he finally pulls out a stool to sit in front of you at the counter.

"Where are the others?" Bucky asks once the boy's have gone off to finish getting ready and packed for their playdate this afternoon. They insisted on taking a new toy or two to show their friends.

"They're at the market. Said they'd only be gone for a few hours," you answer, "asked if I could watch the kids for awhile. They should be back in time to take them to their playdate though," you assure him.

"Ah," he responds, as if that'd enlightened him to something extraordinary. "So what was that last night?" Changing topics flawlessly, as we can see. Back at it again, the Soldier being nosey as ever.

You shrug, not really wanting to talk about it. His stare feels all too consuming and it's rather annoying, actually. Picking up your plate and cup, you round the counter to sit at the stool beside him. While he eyes you for a moment, his gaze finally finds a spot in front of him on the fridge across the kitchen. With the litter of kid's drawings and paintings, there's more than enough to stare at.

"I just..." you sigh, shaking your head as you try to come up with a suitable explanation. "-haven't been feeling well at times, and Sarah's chalked it up to be something more than what it actually is!"

"And what's that?" Bucky prods, taking another bite of his sandwich, finishing one half.

"I don't know," you admit frustratedly, finally putting down the last half of your sandwich. Turning to him, he finds your attention, now fully engaged in the conversation. "I mean, I guess because of what happened to her husband, you know, now she's worried about everyone! Like obviously because I fainted and have been tired and nauseous, like, of course it's 'cancer'," you vent, gesticulating wildly. "I'm sure it's just because of the heat. Sam was right, I don't really get out much, and standing under the blazing sun all day without drinking a lot is, I mean--come on--a recipe for disaster."

"But," he counters, “it can’t hurt, can it?” an eyebrow raising skeptically.

"What?" You question.

"Going to see a doctor," he clarifies. "I mean, if you’ve been sick for weeks now- what if you picked up something in Europe?”

"Wouldn't it be gone by now then?" You take his hypothetical a step further before sipping your lemonade. It was one thing if only Sarah was being a worry-wart, but now Bucky too? Why does he even care? It's not like you're terribly close or anything.

"Maybe," he bites, "but would you want to risk that with the kids around?" Oof. There it is. Guilt-tripping at its finest, huh? "If the symptoms aren’t getting better, then aren't you safer getting it checked out than letting yourself fall further apart?" Wow. Way to sound like an asshole. Maybe there was something to John Walker's little attitude about Super Soldier's having an air of superiority.

As your face falls, jaw setting a little, your annoyance is obvious, yet neither of you comment on it. Silence fills the space between you, even if you don't want him to have the last word. "Maybe," you finally concede. The anger isn't hidden in your tone, however. And that's all he'll get.

You wind up playing a game of Uno with the kids waiting till Sarah and Sam get back. Bucky joined, albeit it took a little bit of an explanation for him to understand the rules. Granted, once he'd started playing, you have to give it to him, he picked it up fast!

Unfortunately, a quarter of the way into the game, Bucky gets a call. Excusing himself from the table, you're left with less competition, and with how ruthlessly you've seen the boys play, your luck is about to change!

The somewhat evil laugh falls past your lips as you get Cass out of the game. It's down to just you and AJ when the squeaky sound of the screen door opening captures your attention. "Looks like they're gonna be late. We'll have to take you guys to the Landry's," Bucky informs. Leaning against the doorframe, he crosses his arms over his chest as his vision darts between you and the table.

With a slap of a hand on the table, you turn to spot AJ placing his final move down. "Uno!" He yells, a mischievous look on his face.

"Did you cheat when I wasn't looking?" You ask tauntingly, eyes narrowed at the boy, knowing it's probably not true, but wanting to tease him anyhow. Cass smiles, his hand coming up to his mouth to cover it as he shakes his head, watching the situation ensue.

"Looks like it's your turn," Bucky teases from over your shoulder still by the door. They must be in on it together, you just know it!

"I know... thank you very much," you reply dryly, sparing him a glance to narrow your eyes in his direction. He just smiles in return.

"No problem," he replies sarcastically, "though we've gotta hurry it up if we wanna get them there on time. Sam already said the reception there was pretty spotty, so they had a hard time finding somewhere they could let us know."

"Got it," you reply cooly, calmly... trying your best to calculate your next move. There's realistically no way you can combat AJ's Red Two. You have a singular red card you can play, and it's a Three. No Reverses, Skips, or Draw Fours. A sigh tumbles from your lips as you give a menacingly look toward AJ in hopes of scaring him just a little.

Ever so slowly you place your card on the stack. "Aw!!!" AJ and Cass both erupt into joyous cheer as he places down his final card and wins the game. "You won!" Cass cheers his older brother on.

"Good job," you compliment, "good game." Turning over your shoulder, you ask. "You knew he had that, didn't you?" It's somewhat rhetorical. Bucky had been practically standing behind both of your shoulders, you and AJ having been sat diagonal from one another at the table.

"Maybe," the Soldier answers cryptically, leaving you guessing again, a smirk sat on his lips.

"Now come on, let's go," he urges the boys. You clean up the cards and by the time you're outside, everyone's readied in the blue pickup truck.

"Wait, why didn't they take the truck?" You question as you're slipping into the passenger side seat.

"Don't know," Bucky quips, turning the key in the ignition and starting the vehicle.

It's odd, because the only other vehicle is Sam's motorcycle, which... isn't really practical for going to the market... is it? Nevertheless, here you are, and it doesn't really change what's going on. The kid's need to get to their friend's house, you're already late for dropping them off by a few minutes, and you know it'll be a bit of a drive.

Bidding the kids goodbye, you don't think anything of it when Bucky decides to take a different route back to the Wilson's house. While GPS would keep you on the highway, he's chosen to go through town instead.

"Why'd you get off?" You question. The Soldier doesn't immediately answer, causing you to turn your head in his direction.

"Maybe I wanted to take the scenic route," he says, eyes still glued to the road. You both know it's a lie. When he finally meets your eye, he sighs. "I figured we could stop by urgent care on the way back." At least he didn't continue to lie to your face. That you can be grateful for, at least.

"Why?!" You cry, brows furrowing as this really wasn't in your plans today.

"You said you'd go-!" He argues.

"Yeah, to get them off my back! I didn't think-" You launch into your reasoning.

"Yeah, well you said you'd go-" he interrupts you, "and I promised them I'd take you, so I'm just-"

"-I'd have to get you off my back too! I only said that because you guilt-tripped me with the whole 'you wouldn't wanna get the kids si-" It's then that what he said registers in your mind. Coming up to a stoplight, it offers you the perfect time to fully shift in your seat to look at him face on. "You what?!" You yell. "What do you mean you 'promised them'?! They put you up to this? Is that why we're in the truck?"

Crossing your arms over your chest, you glare at him with a stern look. When the man finally meets your gaze, his face falls in suit. His head shakes as he tries to mentally come up with either an excuse or explanation, you know that much. "Look," Bucky finally says, tone as calm and collected as he can be in this moment. Both of you with differing states of emotion, now trapped in a truck together. He follows it up with your name, and now you know he's serious. "Last night they were panicking with what to do. I offered to stay and help out if they needed, and Sarah took me up on it!"

"Oh, so this is all for Sarah?" You ask sarcastically, knowing the little thing they have for each other. "Got it." Finally tearing your gaze away from him, you look out the passenger window toward the bay, refusing to look at him any longer.

"Wha-? No," he says defensively. There's a split-second of silence before he scoffs. "Okay. Yeah, and even if it was, what does it matter?" More silence follows when you don't answer, and you can physically feel his eyes on you. Then there's that oh so familiar sigh of his. "I was worried about you. Okay? We all are, and they both figured that if it were either of them you'd try to talk them out of it."

"Oh, and what? I'd be too scared of you?" You scoff. "So they send their guard dog? I thought you weren't anyone's guard dog anymore." While your tone is somewhat mocking and meant to jab him, you don't really care about the consequences right now.

There's a slight scoff from him, and out of your periphery as you're tempted to look his way, you see him shake his head again. "No," he answers, whatever semblance of contentment dissolves from his features. "I think they thought you'd be less likely to refute the guy you know least," he corrects.

When your eyes meet again, you're unable to pretend not to notice the way there's a darkness present again. Like a cloud over his whole demeanor. A part of you feels guilty. You knew that people referred to him like that in the past, toyed with him in similar ways by bringing up the things Hydra had done to him. Yet, you'd mentioned it in a vaguely lighthearted way, and that was... not right of you. Even if you were upset.

Eyes slowly falling to your hands that play with each other in your lap, you nod. "Yeah..." you agree quietly. "I guess so." Quiet settles in the car, and you find yourself lost in thought. It feels tense and awkward now, and while you really don't want to have to do this, you know it'll be quick and harmless. Better to just... get it over with. Really, it's only because they all care about you. And that's something you could never truly be mad at, could you?

As you approach the road you know the urgent care is on, having passed it when you'd originally arrived, you speak again. "I didn't mean t..." your words die on your tongue.

"I know," Bucky replies curtly, eyes still on the road.

"I just... I don't see the point in this, but if... you guys think it's for the best, then fine. I shouldn't have been so angry, and I just..." you sigh, feeling like you're botching the explanation of your actions, "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that, and it was wrong of me."

Sparing a glance his way, you're somewhat scared of what you'll see in his eyes, and yet, when he briefly meets your eye, there's a knowing look. An understanding, almost.

"It's fine," he responds. Pulling into the parking lot, he parks, and just like that, he's out of the car. "Let's just get in there and get this over with, alright?" With a nod, you follow him into the building.

After all the argument you'd conceded. If they're so determined they're right, then you'll just have to prove them wrong. Nothing is wrong with you, you're sure of it, and if going to the doctor is the thing that'll get them to all shut up, then so be it.

Sure, maybe now you're a bit more level-headed about it, but ultimately you'd be lying if you said that petty part of you wasn't still inside too.

Luckily, it seems the urgent care isn't super busy today. As you wait side by side, you do your best to ignore Bucky. To your satisfaction, it seems he's not entirely thrilled to be here either. Yet, considering it was a stipulation to you capitulating to this in the first place, he's owning up to his word.

Perusing a couple magazines in the meantime, nothing truly catches your eye. Most of them are local digests about Louisiana, whether it be fishing, home decor, or places to visit. When they finally call your name, you stand and take a few steps before looking back at Bucky who has his eyebrows raised in question. Waving him over, he shakes his head. When you don't budge, he sighs and stands, following.

"I want you to be right there when the doctor says there's nothing wrong with me," you attest. In which, a quiet displeased groan emanates from the man in response.

A half hour passes; you'd done the pee in a cup test, you'd done the bloodwork they asked for in confirmation, and now you're simply waiting for the doctor to show up and tell you the results. Surprisingly, you didn't think it'd happen this fast, but considering you're on the outskirts of New Orleans, it's not a busy day, and in conjunction, not being a local only aided the rapidity.

Bucky's leg is bouncing in the chair off to the side while you're sitting on the examination table. "Nervous?" You poke, still smug just knowing what the outcome will be.

"Try bored," he rebuttals, giving you a fed up stare. A sigh leaves your lips and you break the eye contact to take in the details of the bleak monochromatic room.

"Well, you are the one who insisted we come here, so..." you point out. With a courageous and slow glance in his direction you find him throwing daggers in your direction before he sighs and hangs his head.

"Yeah," he admits defeat, boot-clad toes tapping the floor repeatedly in that annoying way that you truly wish had the capacity to speed up the waiting. If only.

A few more minutes pass like this, and while you're growing frustrated with the waiting too, Bucky scrolls on his phone. And you want to assume he's goofing off, but you know he's probably checking for any sign of Karli and the Flag Smasher's reappearance. It's then that you open your mouth to ask him what he does for fun, if he ever has any- when the knock at the door causes him to pocket his phone. You both perk up at the sound.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Bell," the man greets upon entering the room. Computer in hand, he places it down on the counter before turning to you. "Can you tell me what brings you in today?"

"Well, I haven't been feeling well the past week or so and my friends thought I should come," you explain.

"How so? What's been going on?" He prods.

"Um..." you try to think, wanting to be honest, "I've been tired, and sometimes a little nauseous, but, I'm also just visiting a friend so, I'm not really used to the heat."

"She passed out last night," Bucky interjects.

"What?" The doctor questions, clearly surprised.

"I was dehydrated," you correct, "and I guess I passed out."

"Well," the doctor takes a heavy breath, "that's not entirely uncommon at this stage."

Both you and Bucky shut up at that. This stage?! What the fuck does he mean 'this stage'?! And it must be obvious on your faces considering the doctor chuckles.

"I suppose you don't know," the doctor states, even if it comes off as a question. "well, then let me be the first to tell you both congratulations," the doctor claps his hands together, "you're pregnant."

"What?" The word leaves your lips before you can truly process what he'd said. Huh..? What? Pregnant? Like... pregnant? Like with a baby? No... no. That can't be right.

"Since when?" Bucky questions, his brows pinched slightly as a look of concentration sits on his face.

"Well, when was your last period?" The doctor asks.

And really... you can't recall. I mean... well, you've been here- what? Almost two weeks. So that's two weeks, yeah. Then you were in Latvia, okay. That was like... two days, almost. Then Madripoor, Germany... that's three days total, but then you also didn't have your period at that time. Oh! But you did have to buy more pads before leaving for Germany, right? When was that? Well, it wasn't right before Germany, but it also wasn't, like, a long time before it either.

"Maybe..." you try to count it on your fingers, "three weeks ago? I think." While it's not concrete, and you no longer have those tracking apps on your phone, it's something, right?

"Well, based off the blood test we did to confirm the urine analysis, I'd say you're about two weeks along," the doctor announces. "We could also take it a further step and confirm if you remember the last time you slept together?" The doctor looks between the two of you expectantly, waiting for an answer.

An incredulous breath leaves you, while Bucky's attention snaps toward the doctor, then to you. "Right," he comments unfazed, "and that was...?" Eyeing you with a determined look, it sends a shiver down your spine. You don't think you've seen him with such an intense look in his eye before. Well, except maybe for people like John Walker and Zemo.

Fuck.

Zemo.

Fuck!

Zemo?

There's no way... right? It couldn't have been. Could it? "Madripoor," it comes out almost as a whisper. The memory flashes in your mind like a dirty movie, the image of him under you, on top of you, inside you. Despite all the precautions everyone had taken on the mission, neither of you had prepared for that. You didn't have protection, and neither did he, yet you risked it.

"Two weeks ago?" Bucky states, as if reiterating what you'd said. It's like he's trying to put the pieces together. Though, there's something in his tone, something ominous, something dark that you don't like.

"Well," the doctor claps again, an excited grin on his face as he garners both of your attention again, effectively snapping you out of it. "I'd say it's definitely certain then. Two weeks along. I'd recommend scheduling a follow-up with your primary care physician, buy some prenatal vitamins, and remember to stay away from alcohol, drugs, and any sort of strenuous activity for the foreseeable future. I also wouldn't be eating any fish, and try to stay away from unpasteurized dairies and such."

Still left in a whirlwind, you zone out as the doctor bids you goodbye and the two of you checkout. Once outside, you find yourself on autopilot, trying to process what you'd just heard.

"Stop," Bucky demands once you're halfway back to the parking lot. You don't listen, even if you do hear him. He calls your name, it doesn't change anything, you keep walking. In the matter of two seconds he's closed the space between you as his hand grabs your shoulder and spins you around, effectively stopping you. "Tell me it's not who I think it is."

The corners of your lips tug downward as your eyebrows follow suit. "That depends on who you think it is," you respond snarkily.

"Are you kidding me?!" Bucky exclaims.

"What?" You protest. For all he knows, it could be Sam's, right? Or some random hook-up's? Ignoring, of course, the fact that Zemo was a random hookup, that is.

"Don't tell me it's..." Bucky starts, but he doesn't finish. His jaw clenches and he tears his gaze away.

"Zemo's?" You question, to which he meets your eye again. The tension sizzling in the air like you'd gone to the precipice of some mountain, the edge crumbling beneath your feet as you both wait. Only... he's waiting for an answer, while you're waiting for his reaction. Both doomed, yet hopeful in their naivety. You choke on your emotions as your eyes start to well up. "It is."

Bucky's hand drops from your shoulder and it comes up to his face, dragging down it as he turns and walks away. "Damn it!" He yells. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" When he swivels on his feet and stares at you, you swear it's the Winter Soldier you'd seen back in Europe. Whatever friendly, kind man you'd witnessed in the past two days isn't here right now. Maybe he never was. "Did he-?" Bucky practically growls.

And somehow you understand what he's asking- implying. "Wha-?! NO!" You yell. "No! Are you kidding me?! Of course not! I wouldn'- he wouldn't-" you argue. "I just- we just... it happened! Okay?" You admit, arms coming up to hug yourself as you turn from him, heading back to the truck.

A scoff leaves his lips, you hear that. "Are you serious? How could y-"

"Please!" You turn, begging, as you give him the time of day again. "Stop acting like this is something it's not! You guys wanna act like he's such a bad person, when he's n-"

"Oh, don't you dare say that he's n-" Bucky argues, pointing at you.

"It was my decision, Bucky! I chose to sleep with him. Is that what you wanna hear?" Yelling, you no longer care who's listening or if anyone is around at this point. You're not holding anything back anymore. "You think I planned this?! That I went to Zemo and was like 'yup, let's do this!'? No!"

"Fine!" He gives up, tossing his hands up in the air. "That's fine! Your decision, whatever. But you're gonna stand there and tell me he's not a bad man?!" His voice continues to get louder and louder as he goes on, whether he's aware of it or not. "That with everything he's done, you sat there and decided to sleep with him?"

The disgust is evident in his voice, the judgmental tone clear as day. His eyes paint you as some tasteless slut with no conscience. You feel it in the way he looks at you, you see it, you hear it!

"God!" You curse, giving up this argument as well. Exasperated, you know there's nothing you can say that would change his mind or excuse what you'd done.

What's worse is the silence that follows. Neither of you moves, yet you stand there in a silent showdown feet apart, emotions broiling under the surface. And then suddenly, he speaks.

"You should get rid of it," he whispers, seemingly calm again like he's gained his senses. Yet, what he's saying would indicate otherwise.

"What?!"

"I- I don't know much about it, but I'm pretty sure from what I've read there's still time. If you're less than two months or something, then you can get an abortion," he explains, stepping closer, now serious and much quieter.

"Are you serious right now?!" You question, still fuming within at even the thought that he'd suggest such a thing.

When Bucky states your name, you can hear the seriousness in his voice. "You know that he won't be a part of your life, much less the baby's. Why would you want that?" He asks. "Sam said you're out of work, you don't have family. What kind of life is that to bring a baby into?" He continues.

This time it's your turn to scoff. Shaking your head, you dodge his incoming pacifying hand aimed toward your shoulder and walk off. Finally getting to the truck, you turn and make your peace with him. "How dare you, Barnes! Are you fucking kidding me?!" Another scoff works its way out of your mouth. "I get that you're not from this century, but you don't get to tell me what to do with my body, or my baby! Alright? It's my choice, and quite frankly, you have no fucking say what I do or don't do."

While your back is turned as you aimlessly try to open the locked truck's door without the key in frustration, Bucky's lips purse. Something darkens in him in that moment as your words sink over him and settle in what this argument is truly about.

"Alright." You hear him say. Internally angry with yourself upon realizing you'd been stupidly trying to open a locked door, you decide to turn and face him. "You're right. I shouldn't have a say on what you do with your body. It's not my choice to make," Bucky concedes, taking a few steps closer until there's only a foot or so between the two of you. "But I don't think this is a good idea," he says your name in a way that you know he means business. "At least promise me you'll consider it? I don't want you to do anything you'll wind up regretting."

Spoken as if he thinks this'll make up for the fact that you slept with Zemo. As if you regret doing so. You don't...

At least... you don't think you do.

Whether or not the baby is a mistake, or a regret is something you can't even begin to consider with the way the news itself is still muddying your thoughts.

Feeling as though you're practically caged against the car door, you slowly meet his serious demeanor only to nod. "Fine," you acquiesce, "I'll consider it, okay?"

"Okay," Bucky responds, stepping aside you, gently bumping your shoulder to get you out of the way of the lock. Once the car's open, he hops inside, waiting for you to round the truck and hop in the passenger's seat. "You... didn't really think I'd let you drive, did you?"

"What? Because I'm such a terrible driver?" You question, trying to guess his assumptions about you- his logic- his line of thinking.

"Sure, let's go with that," he teases, offering a placating small smile your way. With the way a hint of amusement shines through his irises you know that he's attempting to ease the mood between the two of you.

By the time you're buckled up and he's pulling out of the parking lot you finally speak again. "Can I ask you a favor?" Bearing a glance his way, he's concentrated on the road, eyes forward, but you know he's listening to you.

"What is it?" He questions, a hint of coldness and doubt hiding in his tone. As if he's put a wall up to prevent himself from... well, what? You're not sure. Sparing a glance your way, he doesn't look any different, but he's clearly trying to gauge what you're thinking.

And you don't know how to word it. Don't know how to ask... yet, you're mentally trying to put it together first. So, you take your time. "I need you to promise me you won't tell Sam or Sarah," you state slowly, the heaviness of your request clear in your steady and serious tone. While you stare out the window, you're unable to meet the sight of him until you're able to endure whatever his answer is. And right now, you don't think you could bear it if he denies you this.

"I just..." you continue, attempting to explain, "I want to be the one to tell them, and I- I can't have Sam breathing down my neck about Zemo, or what I should do, when... I'm already trying to consider all of this, so... just-" you finally face him, "please don't tell them. Promise me, Bucky. At least, not until I say anything, please!"

While he hadn't glanced your way once yet, eyes still focused on the road ahead, you spot his jaw clench momentarily before he speaks. "Fine," he acquiesces. "But I don't like keeping secrets, especially ones this big. Not when Sam deserves to know."

You know what he means. With how worried Sarah and Sam were... it's only right they know that nothing's wrong. And, technically nothing is wrong. You're just in a different state of being, and experiencing symptoms of it. Pregnancy...

It's difficult enough for you to wrap your mind around, and really, you know weighing your options will be tedious. This might actually be the hardest thing you've ever had to do. Yet, there's another part of you deep down that feels a prick of hope, too. Maybe everything's not lost, after all. Maybe you do have a plan now. A reason. Who knows?

"You didn't say it," the mischievous part of you knows the rules of this game. There's a smug smile on your lips as you stare at him expectantly. You just know he can feel it, because he quickly crumbles and capitulates.

"Agh," he groans, shaking his head before looking your way. "I promise! Fine? Is that good enough for you?" Bucky spits out. And while there might be a little annoyance in his irises, there's also the playful mischievousness mirrored back your way too.

"Yes!" You answer with a smile, happily sitting back in your seat knowing that your secret is safe for now. "That's what I was waiting to hear."

It's weird being back at the house; you know you can't hide this tidbit of information forever. You just can't, Sam knows you too well to have your lying go over his head. And so... that only leaves one option: try to avoid them and the conversation for as long as possible.

Now, how that'll realistically play out? You'll just have to see, you suppose. But for now, it's the only option in your cards, and with Bucky in the know, at least you have someone you can talk to if worse comes to worst.

Even if he isn't your favorite person to talk to.

The night seems to go on forever. There's nothing out of the ordinary, no attempts at questioning you, no arguments, nothing. Yet, you know that the silence might be just that much worse. Because now you're trapped in your mind with your own thoughts; and what's scarier than your deepest darkest anxieties ?

"Are you okay?" Sam asks casually, bumping your shoulder gently to get your attention as you're both on clean up duty after dinner.

You hum at the sudden snap back into reality. "Y-yeah," you answer, offering him a small smile in hopes of placating him and further discussion.

"Alright," he replies, drawing out the word in a way that makes you think he doesn't believe you. "But if you want to talk about anything, you know I'm here for you." It's a nice reminder, really, but the cryptic way he'd offer that after what happened this afternoon makes you suspicious that Bucky's told him.

"What's there to talk about?" You question, trying to trap him into admitting Bucky went behind your back.

"I don't know," Sam answers smoothly, picking up the soapy sponge and starts to scrub the plate in his hand, "but you just seem... out of it tonight. I don't know."

This answer eases your worry. It doesn't seem like he knows, because if he did- he wouldn't hesitate to bring up something adjacent in an attempt to lure the truth from you. Get you to talk about it and probably consider the same things Bucky asked you to. Nevertheless, Sam's showing you he's still a good friend. Even if you'd all argued last night.

After washing up, you spot Sarah exiting the boy's room after presumably putting them down for the night. "Hey!" You call quietly, hoping not to wake them back up. She turns in your direction. "Can we... talk?"

"Of course!" Sarah beckons you over to the living room. Sam works on his laptop atop a stool at the kitchen counter. That's a problem; you're not ready to talk to him yet.

"I... was hoping somewhere maybe just you and me could talk?" You mention quietly.

"Ah," she says in the same hushed tone, "come here." With another small wave of her hand, she leads you out the screen door and onto the porch. The light is on, and a ton of moths and bugs flitter around it. Frogs sing in the trees and crickets chirp around the property, drowning out some of the nerves that'd been working at rendering you into a fearful and catatonic state.

Approaching the old porch swing she sits on, she pats the spot next to her; you oblige her tacit request. "What's up?" she asks, a tired smile on her face as she gives you her undivided attention.

Taking the seat beside her, feet dangling as she pushes the swing back and forth slightly with her longer legs, you mentally work out what you want to say. "I wanted to ask you something, but... I need you to keep it between us," you preface.

Sarah's brows set and she eyes you with concern. "Of course," she states your name, "anything you need, you know that. What did you wanna ask?"

"Really," you urge, hoping to press the seriousness of the subject into her, "I can't have Sam knowing right now. I wanna talk to him myself when I'm ready."

"Okay," she draws out the word, confusion still evident on her face. "I promise, okay? It stays between you and me." She breaks your eye contact and you both sit in silence for a split-second as she kicks her feet back and forth. "But you are scaring me. What's going on?"

A sigh tumbles past your lips, and you know there's no more prolonging it. You have to tell her. You have to tell somebody... somebody you only hope can understand what you're going through. "How'd you decide... know you were ready to have kids?"

The question must take Sarah aback as her head whips in your direction, eyes meeting yours again suddenly. There's a quiet chuckle that pours from her lips as she eyes you skeptically. "What brought this on? A-are you pregnant?" The silence must be enough of an answer as her face starts to contort with an array of emotions from second to second.

"Yes," you whisper in affirmation, hanging your head for a second before your eyes are back on her. "I just... don't know what to do."

"Wait-wait-wait," Sarah holds her hands up suddenly, sitting up straight. "You and Sam?! You and my brother?! Are you serious?" There's an excitement in her tone, but surprise more than anything. "He never mentio-"

"No! no," you answer quickly, effectively interrupting her as she'd begun to get a little loud. "Definitely not! I just-"

"Oh," she says before another breathy chuckle leaves her lips and she slumps back into the seat seemingly more relaxed. "Then, who? Wait- Bucky?" She shakes her head, a surprised look on her face before a hint of disappointment seeps in. "It doesn't matter. H-how far along are you?" You can visibly see the way she tries to redirect herself and stay on topic.

"No," you assure her, "no, not Bucky." Biting your lip, you attempt to reel your emotions back in as the thought of Helmut elicits an ache in your heart. "Two weeks, apparently."

"But... wait, weren't you-?" Sarah begins.

"Abroad? Yeah," you answer.

"So... that's why you were quiet tonight," she states definitely, piecing the puzzles together. "That's what they told you at the clinic?"

"Yeah, and... Bucky thinks I should consider an abortion with who the father is." Playing with the hem of your shorts, you bring your legs up onto the swing, crossing them underneath you. Sight still on your lap, you attempt to explain. It's a hard line; you don't want Sarah to think Bucky's a bad guy for suggesting it, but you also know that it's not something that'd really crossed your mind before.

"You don't know him?" She questions.

"He wouldn't be able to be in the baby's life."

"Well... what do you want?" She finally asks, and you can feel her gaze on you despite not looking.

A louder sigh escapes your lungs this time as your head falls back and you stare at the ceiling. "I don't know," you admit aloud, "I've always wanted this- to be a mom. I just... don't know." Finally turning to look at her, you ramble. "What if I never get this chance again? What if I wanted this... baby?" As your emotions stir in your chest, still partially numbed, you shake your head to refrain from tearing up. "That's why I wanted to talk to you. I mean, you're a single mom."

This time it's her who sighs. It comes out shaky and she breaks eye contact momentarily. You can see something settle over her face and she bites her lip. "I didn't intend to be," she defends.

"I know," you whisper, the saddened look on her face now mirrored on yours.

"I don't think anybody really intends to be," Sarah continues, a faraway look in her eyes as she stares ahead now. "but, when John passed, I... there was nothing I could do." She looks away, and there's a shaky breath from her before she looks your way again. "I can't tell you what to do," she states your name fondly, "but I can tell you it's not easy. I don't know your situation- if you can afford a baby, or the time it takes to care for them when you also have to find a means of living, but... I can tell you that... I don't regret it." A tight-lipped smile displays itself. "With my boys... I always have a piece of John with me, and I'd never wish for anything else."

Nodding in understanding, you slowly reach your hand out to rest atop hers on the porch. She offers you a brave smile before she's turning that hand over and grabbing yours. Her other hand comes up and she's suddenly holding yours between both of hers. "No one can tell you what to do... what you want... but I think if you know for a fact that the father won't be a part of your lives... then it might be worth considering." Then her demeanor shifts.

"But..." she continues, "just know that no matter what- even if you think you're alone in this. You've always got a family with us. You hear me?" The vibe between you lightens and suddenly you're mirroring her smile as you nod.

The conversation didn't go on much longer. There might've been a few tidbits about Sarah's pregnancy with the boys and another assurance--after your begging--that she won't tell Sam until you're ready. And with that, you'd both gone your separate ways to bed. Yet, while you know the house is asleep, the silence inside reflecting just that... you're still there, lying in bed awake.

Running over the memories in your head again and again, you replay every moment you'd spent with the man.

“Woah, woah! He’s the guy? The one you were talking about- the UN Bomber?!” You'd exclaimed, hands thrown out in front of you as you gauged your friend's expressions.

“The one and only,” Zemo quipped with finesse, a smug smirk on his lips, and an all too casual attitude considered he'd just broken out of prison. Still clad in the stolen correctional guard's clothes.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't intrigued by him then, in the moment that you'd met... yet, you were cautious. There was no reason to trust him, not after the things you'd heard he'd done.

~~~~~~

The jet was taking off, and he reached across the space between you with his hand extended. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced," the Baron stated, a curious look in his eyes as they roamed your face. You were doing the same, both taking one another in.

You remember looking toward Sam, unsure whether or not to indulge the man, considering your past. Your proximity to the serum and its development would surely be something he'd despise. Yet, just before the Baron could retract his hand, you'd decided to meet his confident attitude with one of your own. Determined not to let him rattle you.

Even then there was a reciprocal testing of the waters, a mutual respect you'd seen in the way he'd slightly smirked afterward. Perhaps the unexpected meeting in the middle. Someone unafraid of him regardless of the rumors.

~~~~~~

After you'd put on that gorgeous outfit, you remember him saying something. Everyone had their comments about both their, and others' arranged outfits, courtesy of the Baron, but you remember he'd said something. Of course, you couldn't understand it, it'd been in another language. But you wish you knew what it was. Maybe the look on his face said it all. The awed expression still leaving its imprint on your mind.

Is it weird that you don't remember the specificity of whatever issue you'd had with the outfit? All you remember is that you'd been angry with Sam for not helping you when Zemo had been the one to step up to the plate. "What's the issue?" He'd asked, intrigue and concern evident in his tone as he looked between the both of you. Sam left you in the Baron's presence, and you remember feeling nervous. He was a stranger! And you do remember that whatever the issue was- it was personal. That much you remember clearly.

"How can I help?" He'd asked with that infamous head tilt of his. His hazel eyes had given you a once-over, and you remember trying not to blush. Even if you hadn't known him then, he was still handsome in the outfit he'd chosen for himself. And as you stood there with your hand on his bicep, you remember whispering to him about the problem. To which he'd surprisingly given you an out. A way out of the mission, a way to save your dignity and remain uninvolved in the obviously bloody course of events he must've foreseen coming.

"No, I'll do it," you'd told him. And as you'd parted ways, you remember him sticking up for you.

Maybe that was the first glimpse of his humanity that'd you seen. Maybe it was the unwillingness on Sam's behalf in that moment which created this flap of a butterfly's wings, inevitably leading fate down this path. Was it all meant to unfold like this? Would things have gone any differently if you hadn't slept with him?

~~~~~~

Madripoor had taken you aback. All the lights, the violence, the illegal activity. It was both exhilarating, fascinating, and equally terrifying all at once. In your stupor, you remember Zemo grabbing your hand to drag you along, keeping you close. "Stay with me," he'd instructed, wanting to make sure you were safe. You hadn't expected him to do that.

Then you'd gotten to your location. Standing at the bar, you'd busied yourself by playing with his gloved hand which at some point wrapped itself around your waist. Running your hands over his arm, you remember doing your best to play the part, while another part of you might've been subconsciously self-soothing a bit, too.

Then the fighting broke out. You'd been scared, you'd been worried for Bucky- for everyone. Yet, while you'd questioned the Baron, he seemed entirely unfazed. "You're not going to stop this?" You'd whisper-yelled in the minimal space between you as he'd shielded your body from the attackers.

"Would you rather get what we came for, or be injured, even dead?" He'd whispered in your ear, nuzzling his nose against your throat in a quick turn of passion. That reminder was all it took for you to snap back into character. The notion that'd kept you alive; he remained calm while you momentarily had broken the ruse.

He saved you then, and while he'd been so protective over you, to think what came later... you wouldn't have even thought possible. Going from keeping hands off you, to laying them on you? It's something that still haunts you, even if you know he says it wasn't on purpose.

~~~~~~

Everything that'd happened with Selby felt like a blur. Zemo had dragged you down with him into the chair, sitting you on his knee. You knew you fully had to commit now, and weren't planning on backing out this time. Not after almost messing things up for everyone earlier.

With a sling of your arm around the back of his neck, you'd placed your head on his shoulder and admired his side profile, taking in every beauty mark dotting his skin, each expression that shifted across his face, and his five o'clock shadow.

Then, perhaps, you'd almost messed up again. Speaking out of turn, you remember telling Selby off. Something about being upset at the mention of Helmut's prison time. And yet, he'd gone with it. Patting your thigh, he'd reassured you. "It's fine," he'd said, something in another language tacked on at the end. Another thing you couldn't understand.

Your outburst elicited Selby's attention, of course. Something you probably should've expected, but hadn't. The woman honed in on you, and yet--again--at your defense, Zemo stepped in. "She's none of your concern," he'd said pointedly. Once Selby accused you of being nothing more than a tramp, he'd refuted it. That spawned the sudden grab of your chin between his gloved fingers, the swift press of his plush lips against yours, and... maybe it was then, in that moment, that things changed.

You knew you were playing a part- forced to play along for the sake of a mission. Your lives at stake, and yet, you also remember liking it. You'd let yourself get a little carried away, and maybe, yeah- it was all for show, for the realism she'd needed in order to buy your lie. But... what if it wasn't?

You'd ultimately wound up straddling him at some point, both of your lips slightly swollen as you'd parted from the kiss, your foreheads resting against one another as you took in each other's heavy breath. Each of you searching the other's eyes.

When things went awry, he reached for you first. "They're gonna pin this on us," Sam had warned. You'd never been so afraid running through the streets of Madripoor. Your heart thumping wildly in your chest as you tried to keep up with the men in the fancy heels Helmut had picked out for you. When the gunshots rung out, you almost froze in place. Luckily, the Baron had been there to grab you. Thoughtlessly following him, you'd found yourself pressed up against a wall, Zemo caging you in with an arm on either side of your head as you both hid behind a defunct outdoor booth.

Even as the gunshots ricocheted, his hand covering your mouth as a precaution, silence settling between you as a bounty hunter searched the area, there was something between you underneath the surface. Then he'd taken you aback, again. "My apologies," he'd broken the silence, "I only meant to-"

"-Save us, I know," you'd finished his sentence. "Thanks," you added, grateful that you were somehow still alive after all this, embedded in your chest.

"Precisely," he'd quipped. And that was that. You'd run into Sharon.

Thinking back on it, you can never be sure--from the moments you'd dwelled on this night--whether it was the danger, adrenaline, or the physical touch that did you in. If you'd never kissed... would you have wound up walking yourself down that long hallway to his room that night?

~~~~~~

Then, the party. You remember Sharon mentioning something about staying out of trouble. Zemo had said something to make you respond, but you don't quite remember what it was. "Yeah, that's what you better not be," you'd teased, sharing a playful smile with one another.

"Well, you know me," he'd responded, the mischievousness mirrored in both your eyes. Maybe there was a shared sense of humor?

"That's the problem," Bucky had commented, to which you'd laughed. It was unexpected, and, while you didn't know him, Bucky did. Zemo definitely seemed like the type to get into trouble often, that much you can admit now.

Next, you'd wound up dancing with Zemo after a few drinks. He'd looked absolutely devilish under the colored lights on the dancefloor. The electronic music thumped in tandem with both the beat of your heart, and the need growing between your legs. And while you might've originally joined him strictly with cordial intent, somewhere between the drinks and the interactions you'd shared along the way, the lines blurred.

You couldn't be sure exactly when it'd settled in your bones, but you knew right then on the dancefloor that you wanted him. Carnally, biblically, intimately. Having used any and every excuse to get closer, feel his hands on you, you'd done it shamelessly, without abandon.

His breath had been hot on your neck, the tingling after you'd kissed him still played in your mind as you struggled with the doubtful thoughts on whether you should visit his room. Yet, he'd seen right through you. Even with the excuse of returning the clothes he'd loaned you, he'd known. Maybe it was because subconsciously he wanted it too, but... he was right.

The minute you'd shown up at the intricately carved oak door in nothing but that white bathrobe, you'd been damned. And while he was respectful, biting at your hypotheticals and questioning, you needed him in a way you can't explain, even to this day.

Whether it was the wise words of encouragement, or the teasing banter beforehand, he'd effectively ripped open your wounds and read you like a book. And there it was again; a mutual understanding. You saw him in a light you're not sure he'd had anyone see him in... in years, from how he'd reacted. He'd seen through you, and didn't judge you for what he saw.

Maybe that's why you did it. Maybe that's why things had felt so seamless and smooth in everything that'd fallen into place afterward.

"Thank you, Zemo," you remember whispering up to him, his hazel eyes already on you when you'd raised your head.

"Helmut," he'd corrected, squeezing your hand gently.

Then he kissed you... and you kissed him back. Everything that followed teetered the line of downright debauchery and something... romantic. The sounds you pulled from each other was voracious, something you'd keened to hear more of. While you'd ebbed and flowed in each other's pace, finally, agreeing to take things slow, the night had only begun.

He let you take the lead, let you set the pace of the evening above him. Then eventually, he was on top of you, and giving you everything you'd asked for and more. After the night bled into dawn, you just remember lying there in contentment within his arms. Conversation occasionally budded between the both of you, but even the quiet moments felt comfortable. It felt... easy.

That's the only word you've been able to think of every time your mind comes back to that night. It felt easy in a way you've never experienced before. Until you finally had to leave and make way to your assigned room before the others woke.

~~~~~~~

You needed to find this Donya. Yet, as each of you failed in your attempts to get the locals to talk, he hadn't. Halfway across the courtyard he was leant over the kids, plopping the candies onto the stool before them. "Turkish Delight," he'd offered. They were his son's favorite. You don't remember when or where you'd heard that, but you remember as much as that.

Seeing him treat the kids with respect, he wasn't horrible with them. Even after all the synonyms you're sure most people would associate with criminals, he was good with them. He got the information when no one else could.

"You just got it, didn't you?" You'd asked him as he strode back to your group, and the sly bastard just tucked his hands into his coat's pockets and shrugged.

"Cute kids," he'd answered, and you knew that was all you were going to get.

Distant images of him with a baby fill your mind. Thoughts of what could be drift through, but you shoo them away. He'd never meet them, he'd never know your baby.

~~~~~~~

Despite all the good moments, despite the obvious spark between the two of you, things still went sideways eventually. As you stood in the basement together hiding behind a congregation of pipes, he'd left your side. There'd been the loud pops of gunfire and as you turned and followed after him, that's when you saw the gun.

He'd been the one firing. You remember screaming for him to "Stop!" Yet, he hadn't. Regardless of all the talk of ethics and morality, you knew you couldn't let him kill this girl. Without thinking you'd jumped on him, and he'd knocked you off. "This wasn't the plan," you'd reminded. In a struggle for the gun he'd elbowed you in the head, and you'd passed out.

~~~~~~~

Finally you met his eyes after he'd woken. While it was silent in the room, there was an unspoken conversation held. All your feelings laid exchanged in the depths of your irises. He'd held a sadness, something akin to regret, guilt... something apologetic. Yet, you also knew it could've only been what you'd simply hoped to see there. Everything in your imagination. The concussion most likely messing with your head.

An ugly tension settled in that room, and you know you were filled with an unspoken resentment. Disagreeing morals, you weren't sure how you could possibly feel anything positive for him at this point anymore.

~~~~~~~

And still... you'd bumped into him on the way into the bathroom. He'd almost beat you there, but you'd managed to slip in the door as he was hurriedly closing it.

"What're you doing?!" He'd cried, a frantic look in his eye. The confusion and surprise written all over his face.

"I don't know!" You remember exclaiming, heart thumping fast as the world spun around you with adrenaline.

He'd repeated the same thing he'd told you in that basement. You hadn't realized it then, but you did when you'd come home and finally processed the trip. "If you're not here to help me, you're in my way." He'd said it in a way that was meant to intimidate you, scare you... that much was obvious. Yet, you weren't either of those things. "Please do not make this harder than it needs to be," he'd practically begged.

"You gonna knock me out again?" You'd stupidly asked, attempting to gauge where he was mentally, yet also lighten the mood. You were done being nice, done trying to placate him. Done letting yourself solely see the image he precariously cultured for the world. Now you had a glimpse of the man underneath.

He'd scoffed in your face. "I did not mean to do that. I was trying to stall you," he explained. Then demanded your help to move the tub. And you did, even if you didn't know why.

"Honest?" You'd questioned him, wanting to know if any of it was real. And he'd repeated the sentiment back in earnest, his tone unlike anything you'd experienced in the days prior. The closest you'd gotten to that authenticity you'd seen in that moment was when the two of you had slept together.

As you both stood there in the silence of that moment, searching each other's eyes, he suddenly broke it. "Unfortunately, there was never going to be another outcome," he'd told you, combing your hair behind your ear. "Otherwise, I would've liked to explore," he seemed to mentally struggle in this moment. You can only chalk it up to him searching for the right word, maybe choked up with emotion- you can't be sure. Yet, his hand cupped your cheek, when he finished his sentence. "this."

"Me too," you'd told him. Sadness grew in your chest and for some reason there was already a feeling of loss. Though you're not sure why. As he'd bid you goodbye he met you halfway, pressing a firm kiss to your lips. You'd grabbed his biceps, an attempt to hold onto him, to memorize that feeling just... a second longer. Yet, he was already gone.

As the door busted open, you jumped in fear, unsure what would happen to him.

~~~~~~~

Remembering the way he'd last looked at you brings a painful ache to your chest. You know that it will never be possible again. You'll never be held by him, touch him, speak to him, see him... and it hurts. That fact in and of itself is conflicting. You'd known the man only, what-? Approximately, maybe, eighty-four hours? Almost three days.

That's not enough time to truly get to know anyone. Yet, damnedly, you still feel as though you'd had some sort of connection, one of the ones you feel on a rarity throughout your lifetime. Whether it's within a good friend who truly understands you, or a lover who's on the same wavelength... it was that sort of feeling. And now, it's gone.

You'll never get it back, you won't see him again. All that matters is whether or not you keep this baby, and while you know you want to, it's worth it to think about what that actually might look like.

You spend hours awake imagining this, considering the means you have to provide a stable life for you both, how you'll go about raising them. Ultimately, you scribble down a few pros and cons onto a piece of paper that'd been in your book bag. Eventually, you succumb to the exhaustion once you feel like you've come to at least some sort of conclusion. Tomorrow you'll tell Bucky the decision you've come to.

~~~~~~~~

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[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Six: Odd Tidings

The Missing Title

Helmut Zemo x Reader | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: At Sam's behest you've been safeguarding his family in Louisiana. When a familiar face shows up unexpectedly, it's safe to say that the problems at the Wilson house stand a chance of being resolved. Yet, it's always as soon as the dust clears that something's on the horizon, isn't it?

Words: 5.1k

Warnings: Descriptions of Violence, Guilt, Cursing, Peer Pressure

Mentions of: Colonization, Death, Hospitalization, Morals,

A/N: I have to point out that from this point on, there probably will be some canon divergence and adjustments for the plot. I hope you guys don't mind it too much. There might be some POV shifts and slight timeline skews, on top of the fact that I haven't seen the newest movie either, so idk how Thunderbolts would affect everything that's to come. Not to mention the new Captain America either, honestly.

The moment you step off the plane it's all over the news. 'Captain America Decapitates Flag Smasher In Latvia' It's hard to miss. You'd recognize that suit anywhere considering you'd just been face to face with it less than a thirty-six hours ago. It doesn't help that it was recorded, too. Lots of videos all over TikTok and other social media sites, a bunch of people posting and reposting them. Bucky and Sam are in a few of them, just watching in horror at the scene unfolding before them. You can't say you blame them. As soon as John had started actually committing the heinous act, you had to click off the one you'd seen.

It'd been incredibly late when you'd gotten into the New Orleans Louis Armstrong Airport. You weren't sure if it'd be best to rent a car or not, but when you turn on your phone, a text from Sam informs you that Sarah should be there to pick you up.

At least that answers my question, you suppose. When you exit the terminal you're immediately met with the intense humidity, making it feel hard to breathe. Luckily, it's cool with the salty breeze coming in from the Gulf, you'd guess. While you'd never been to Louisiana before, you're well aware of the rumor that it's hot and humid constantly.

As people file into cars and taxis, you're left to your own devices, unsure where Sarah is or how to get in contact with her. Not the smartest move on Sam's behalf, but you can surely give him a pass considering he'd been busy with Karli. Although, the news might say otherwise. Busy with John Walker, more likely.

It's then as the crowd disperses a bit that you spot a truck parked in the kiss-and-ride lane with its window down. There's a black woman in the front seat who shares a similar nose to Sam, and when she calls your name through the window and you make eye contact, she waves you over.

Upon arrival she's leaning over the console to open your door. You thank her. Slipping into the passenger's seat, you place your backpack between your feet on the floorboard and shut the door.

"Mommy? Who's that?" You hear a child's voice ask. Turning back, you spot two children in the backseat. They have to be Sam's nephews.

"It's okay, baby, it's just uncle Sam's friend," she reassures the younger of the boys, the one who'd woken up. "Just go back to sleep." Offering a small smile in his direction in hopes of aiding this reassurance, you're unsure if he even minds you, as the tone of his voice and the way his eyes are halfway closed tell you he's still half asleep.

Sarah puts the radio on as background noise, the music quiet as you all pull out of the airport and drive, assumingly, back to her house.

"I'm Sarah, by the way," she officially introduces herself, voice soft and low as she finally gives you a glance. When you return the sentiment and introduce yourself, she nods. "I'd say it's nice to meet you, but... the circumstances and all," she admits with a shake of her head. Maybe it'd been her admittance of it, or perhaps just the hour of the night, but it's then that you spot the bags under her eyes.

"I understand," you reply, feet shifting as you get more comfortable in the seat, fabric brushing against fabric is one of the only sounds throughout the car. "and I'd say it's nice to meet you too, for the record," you add onto her attempt at lightening the mood. "thank you for picking me up, by the way."

"Of course," she responds, eyes focused on the dark road, "anything for a close friend of Sam's."

"He talks about you all the time, you know," you point out, "you and the boys."

This elicits a faint smile from her as a faraway look appears in her eyes. "I know... though, it's nice to hear it."

And while the rest of the ride passes in mostly silence, it's not uncomfortable. She is nice, and seems like a genuinely good person. Though, what did you really expect of someone Sam's related to?

When you get to her house, it's practically pitch black out aside from the motion sensor light above the driveway. The stop in motion must cause the boys to stir, because you can hear movement from the backseat. "I have to get them to bed, but, please, make yourself at home," Sarah states.

Despite your offer to help, she insists on carrying her youngest inside, the older boy having woken up to follow his Mom inside, all three rounding a corner leaving you alone in the living room. Minutes pass, and while you take off your shoes to set them by the door, you wind up sitting on the couch like a lost puppy.

When Sarah returns, in the light, it's much easier to see the way this scare has taken a toll on her. Which, really, would be odd to say considering you'd never met her, so there's no other reference... but you'd recognize that sort of drag on a person anywhere. It's obvious she's tired, worn out, and probably still scared as hell.

And it only makes sense that when she asks you if she should stay awake 'just in case something happens', you refute that option. "They've got it sorted out. I promise," you attempt to assure her. Even if you can't know that one hundred percent. What strikes you even more is that she offers to stay up longer, willing to make you something to eat if you're hungry. You refute that too. Everything can wait until tomorrow.

--------

In the morning, you officially meet AJ and Cass. They're both wonderful and remind you of your little cousins. God, you can't even remember the last time you'd seen them. Of course, when you'd had a moment alone with Sarah after the boys went to school, she wanted to sit down and hear about everything going on with Karli.

Naturally, you'd left out most of the gruesome details, but had told her the gist of the entire situation and some tidbits about how Sam is, things that wouldn't be in the news. Essentially, everything you knew, which, wasn't as much as the man probably knows, himself.

The next week is filled with chores, talks, and a lot of time for you to just process everything you'd gone through in the several European (and one Oceanic) countries you'd been hoisted off to for a favor. Safe to say, Sam probably owes you one hell of a favor now himself! Yet, low and behold, things were okay, and the family is safe. The man had called several times in the past week and assured them that they were safe, and while you know that means you'd probably be okay to leave, you didn't want to abandon Sarah and the boys before Sam officially gets back.

Lucky for you, it happens that Sam'll be back tomorrow, so that's certainly caused an excited stir in the house. "Do you think he's gonna have more stories?" Cass asks with a hopeful tone as he looks up from where the boys are playing with their action figures.

"Probably," you answer, helping Sarah fold a bunch of laundry on the couch. It's the least you can do considering you've been essentially free-loading in her house. Though another part of you might want to argue that it technically isn't free-loading when you'd been asked to, however, that's not really the point.

"If he doesn't I'd be surprised," she quips, eliciting a laugh from everyone in the room. It's true. Sam was never one to withhold details when it came to letting a funny story about his adventures slip here or there.

"He was fighting super soldiers!" AJ mentions, his Thor figurine lifting its hammer as he flies up into the sky momentarily before crashing down on Cass' Hulk figurine.

"That, he was," you confirm, a soft smile on your lips. Kids aren't dumb. It's evident in the way they talk, in the way they explain their rationale. However, watching the boys play, you also know that their childhood has yet to end, and while you'd heard a bit about their past and the way they'd lost their father a few years ago, it only makes you that much more proud of them. Is that weird? Being proud of someone else's kids? Well, it extends to Sarah, too, really.

Being a single mother can't be easy, and, dealing with grief on top of that? It must be reassuring to know that she had some family to rely on, albeit a small one. Hopefully she'd consider you a friend now, and someone she could also rely on if need be.

"We've gotta check up on the boat tomorrow, first thing," Sarah mentions quietly, as though talking to herself.

"Why?" Cass asks, not looking up from where they're playing.

Perking up, she must realize he'd been asking her. The thought certainly wasn't just to herself anymore. "I thought I told you Mister Dinh was coming," Sarah explains.

"Oh! Right," Cass comments.

------

"Good job, guys," Sam compliments, "in about ten years we'll have this thing fixed." He's got his pocket knife out, helping the boys mend the fishing nets. "Would be fun to take the boat out one more time, right? Before we sell it, there's a great spot in Grand Isle your Grandfather used to take me, catch a lot of fish."

Overhearing their conversation from your spot a few feet away, you can't help but smile at the mental image of what that might've looked like. While you're bent over the small table Sarah's got the rotor on, you're scooched up to the end of the bench while she's on a chair across from the table.

"But Mom said we can't sell it," AJ comments, meticulously untangling the nets.

"What?" Sam questions, his joyful tone ebbing a bit. You know him well enough to know that he's assessing what they're telling him, and also not quite happy for the reported information either.

"It's too messed up," AJ explains, "Mister Dinh said he wouldn't buy it 'cause it cost more to fix."

"And then he said something else in Vietnamese," Cass adds with a quiet giggle. Do they know Vietnamese? Did they understand what the man said? You have to assume it was a bad word, nonetheless. Nothing gets kids laughing like cursing.

"Yeah," AJ verifies, chuckling with his little brother.

And while you see Sam look your guys' way from your periphery, when you meet his gaze, you see it's pointed on Sarah, and he's not happy.

------

On the couch you're doing the crossword puzzle of the day on your phone when you hear him bring it up. "Why didn't you say something?" Sam asks quietly. There's the sound of the fridge door shutting and you know Sarah's busy with the boys' lunch.

"I didn't wanna tell you last night when you were lookin' all sad puppy dog in the rain," Sarah answers. He'd finally come home last night when it was raining, and while everyone had rushed to greet him, he was obviously tired and not in a good mood. You guessed it had something to do with his pit stop in Baltimore, but, he didn't say.

"It was a rough day," Sam responds in a hushed tone, obviously trying to keep their conversation somewhat private. So, you were right! Something did happen in Baltimore!

"You mean with Isaiah Bradley?" Sarah prods. You don't blame her, secrecy only causes more problems, and he's clearly still upset about something. That name, however, only sours your mood. The last time you'd heard it was in Latvia, and while you knew the tiny bit of information Bucky and Sam had imparted on you, it was enough to make you feel guilty about your previous job. With that, you're up and off the couch.

"And what they did to him," Sam adds as you pass him into the hallway in search of the kids. It's almost time to go, and it feels like they've been taking forever to get ready. No harm in checking in on them.

Fortunately, the kids were almost ready anyway, and you simply give a once over of their outfits, admire the decorations in their room, and question if they've got everything packed for school today. AJ almost forgot his homework, so, it's a good thing, too! Once you're done, you head back out with the boys in tow.

"-and the government kind of took control and benched us," Sam mentions with a chuckle, leaning against the counter as Sarah finishes packing the lunch.

"Oh, hey guys!" Sarah greets. AJ follows Cass, stopping only to do a secret handshake with his uncle. "Please make sure Bennett and Elling each get one. Okay?" She requests, handing off the lunches to AJ.

"Okay!" The boy assures his mother, meanwhile you're getting on your shoes and swiping the keys off the side table. It'd already become habit that you and Sarah would rotate the days you'd been driving the boys to school.

"Alright, bye," Sam calls after them as they walk out the back door. Sarah says her own goodbye, and you repeat yours back to them before you're headed out too.

"Have a good day at school, guys," Sam says before the door slams shut.

------

By the time you get back it's afternoon. If Sarah asked, you'd admit to stopping by a park on the way back, taking some time to walk and process everything. You were still doing that some days, thinking, analyzing, debating on exactly what's next for your life.

Some days it feels like the world's at your fingertips. 'The world's your oyster' as they'd say. Other times, though, you feel like you've lost everything and everyone who mattered to you. Going back to Arizona is technically an option. You could always call up Joaquin and figure out next steps, but... he'd moved on. He doesn't live there anymore, and really, what's out there for you anyways? Nothing.

You'd lost your job due to the governmental politics of it all, and it's not like you'd had much time for friends during that period of your life either. Ultimately, you were stuck. Out of options, nowhere to turn but home. Surely your apartment back in the city is missing you. Maybe there's something for you there in 'The City that never sleeps'. Who knows.

Yet, life seems to keep throwing unexpected surprises your way. Turning the key in the truck's ignition, you unbuckle, and hop out of the car, slamming the door shut. "Look who's here!" You shout excitedly, hoping to catch up with him as he approaches the front door. "Thought you'd be in New York, if anywhere." A chuckle leaves your lips.

The friendly face turns around, and for what feels like the first time you've ever seen it, a genuine smile sits on his lips. He states your name in a cheery tone. "Should've expected to see you," he comments.

"What? You don't trust me, Bucky?" You joke, closing the distance between you before throwing a gentle fist toward his arm. Unfortunately for you, it's always a point to remember that one's metal. It doesn't truly hurt, it'd only been light enough to remind you of it, but you play it off humorously. Quietly hissing, you shake out your fist.

"Ah, come on," he comments, clearly not buying into your joke. He tries the door again. When he pushes it open, it's dark inside. "Where are they?" Poking his head inside, he peers around before closing the door again. "Or should I ask what you did with them?" This elicits a genuine laugh from you as you eye him amusedly. It's odd, really. You've never seen him like this. You didn't know the infamous Winter Soldier could be funny. Like... at all.

Okay, okay. Maybe he does have his moments, but... it's usually dry humor. At least from what you've seen, and those aren't even including the times more often than not that his 'jokes' seem unintentional. So this is all quite new. "They're probably out back. Sam was talking about cashing in a few favors since their deal on the boat went through."

Walking down the wraparound porch, you let him follow. "What happened?" Bucky questions. And you're not sure whether it's simply to make small talk, or if he's genuinely curious about the day to day stuff. You shrug, and before you know it, the Soldier is once again at your side.

"I guess the guy they had lined up to buy it got a look and thought it was too busted up to be worth fixing," you explain.

There's a moment where silence falls over the two of you, the only sound filling the space being the leaves and twigs crunching under your feet as you step off the porch and head toward the dock. A sigh leaves your lips.

"Oh," he says in a way that lets you know he understands.

"It's a shame too. Apparently it was the thing that was gonna help them really get back on their feet. You know, Sarah still struggling since her husband passed a few years back, and also being a little too generous for her own good-" you chuckle, putting up your hands as you meet his eye again, "-at least, according to Sam!" He laughs at that.

"That's too bad," he comments, eyes finally shifting from you onto where you're leading him. Walking down the pier, you close your eyes momentarily to feel the salty breeze on your skin. Even if it's been almost a week here, you're still grateful for the small joys life brings everyday. Sometimes all that matters is simply being open to seeing them.

"It's a pretty big house they've got," Bucky comments, his boots and your sneakers thumping against the wood in tandem.

"Yeah, it's nice," you reply, looking over your shoulder to really take in the whole property from this view. "The porch swing, wraparound porch, fire pit." Almost to the dock, you find yourself listening to the way the water splashes up against the wooden beams beneath your feet. There's the faraway sound of the buoy's bell ringing near the inlet a dozen yards down.

Finally, you bring up what you'd been wanting to ask since you'd first spotted him. "What's in the briefcase?" You question, subtly motioning down to the bulky refined silver briefcase in his hand.

"Something for Sam," he responds without hesitation. One look at you, however, lets him know that answer didn't satisfy your curiosity. "Guess you'll just have to wait and see," he teases, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. "Lotta people here," Bucky switches topics, and you can hear his footfall start to slow. A quick look at him, you follow his eyeline to see what he's talking about.

"Must be all the favors Sam called in," you voice your thoughts. Though simultaneously you can't help but think about how all those favors came to be, considering, there's a ton of people.

Approaching Sarah, who's currently invested in the clipboard she's holding, you let Bucky go off on his own. "I'm back," you announce, "kids are at school. How's it going here?"

"Oh, you know, it's-" Sarah stops speaking as soon as a loud clunk sounds nearby. "Damn," she comments under her breath.

"Way to make an entrance," you shout over toward Bucky, who'd just lifted a pallet with what you can only guess is an engine fastened to it right off the back of a truck and placed down onto the dock.

The man flashes you both a quick smile before turning back to Sam. "You're welcome," he states, lifting the briefcase onto the back of the truck. With that, you excuse yourself from Sarah's side, eager to see what's within. "Just dropping this off. You can sign for it, and I'll go."

So... this wasn't just a friendly check up after all, then. Maybe you'd misjudged him, the thought crosses the back of your mind. As Sam's hand runs over the briefcase, you eye it curiously. "I called in a favor from the Wakandans," Bucky adds.

"Figures," you state, arms crossing over your chest. The Soldier's blue eyes shift onto you, a morphing, ambiguous expression on his face. "I mean, that's one of their, sort of... typical patterns, yeah? I noticed a kind of theme last time we ran into them." Leaning into your hip, you wait anticipatingly long for Sam to open the damn thing. "That, and from what's in the museums," you add.

"Yeah, I guess I can see that," Bucky responds, focus on the briefcase for a moment before it's back on Sam, intent.

A loud hiss hits the air, and your head snaps over to the boat behind your friend. "Sam!" Sarah calls, running over to check out the problem. One of the pipes burst and is leaking... well, you'd think air, but it could be a gas of some sort. Steam?! Either way, it can't be good.

Sam ditches the briefcase and steps onto the boat, grabbing a wrench to try and close up the leak. Despite his noisy effort, it isn't working. Bucky follows suit.

"Hi," the Soldier stop to greet Sarah, who holds her clipboard close to her chest.

"Hi," she responds, and there's something in her voice and demeanor that tells you she's already fond of the man. Maybe it's the way she appeared shy instead of the confident and unabashedly her, way that she generally holds herself.

"Hold on, hold on, hold on-" Bucky instructs, taking the wrench from Sam, "You gotta go up!" And just like that? Problem solved, apparently. Coming to stand over by Sarah, you offer her a knowing smile. A flustered look spreads across her face and she's suddenly laughing as she playfully hits you with the clipboard.

"Stop," she warns you, to which you laugh.

"What? I'm not doing anything," you defend, hands raised. Despite your words, you still smile at her with that knowing look in your eye.

"Oh, you know what you did," Sarah accuses, exchanging a look with you. She knows you know about her thoughts on the Winter Soldier.

"I do?" You joke, hand coming up to your chest in a faux show of innocence.

"Yeah," she chuckles, "yeah, you do."

"Why didn't you use the metal arm?" You hear Sam question, eliciting both of your attention back on the boys.

"Uh, well..." Bucky says, eyeing his exposed metal hand, "I don't always think of it immediately. I'm right-handed," he explains. That, you hadn't known. Never really paid enough attention, honestly.

While Bucky probably expects Sam's laughter, what he doesn't expect is both of your laughter from behind him. With a bashful look over his shoulder, he tries to play it off by giving the boat a once over, his attention anywhere else. "So, this is the boat, huh?" He says your name, "-was telling me about it on the walk over."

"This is it," Sam replies, leaning against the pipes as he looks over the old piece of work.

"It's nice," Bucky compliments, "Want any help?"

And while Sam might take a moment to consider--his manly pride and all that--you're almost certain, Sarah doesn't need to. "Yes please! If you wouldn't mind, of course," she inserts herself into the conversation. Maybe it's also just an excuse to get the man to stick around, though, too. Something you'll definitely have to pry out of her later!

"Sure thing," the Soldier responds, finally turning toward her. "I'm Bucky," he introduces himself.

"Ah," she bounces on her feet a little, "Sarah," she responds. With that, you're backing up toward the briefcase, not wanting to intrude.

"Sarah," he repeats, the smile on his face unlike anything you've ever seen on him before. Though, the way Sam looks annoyed at his sister doesn't go unnoticed by you. While the boys might walk into the wheelhouse, you follow after Sarah to see what she needs help with.

The rest of the day is spent helping the boys fix up the boat in whatever way you can, although there are definitely moments that it feels like they'd rather exclude you in favor of a boy's club once Sam's nephews return home from school. It's not like you can really help out as much as you'd like, anyhow, considering you're not the most knowledgeable about boats to begin with.

It's all in good fun though, the kids are more than happy to help out, and you're more than willing to exchange hard labor in favor of helping Sarah cook dinner for the six of you. Really, it's calming in a way; talking with Sarah, you've grown close to her within the limited amount of time you've been here, and truly, she's become a friend. Corn, mashed potatoes, and chicken aren't hard to make, but it's definitely is easier to make a whole meal and set the table when someone else is helping you out.

Just as the boys burst in through the door, the sun having gone down a little while ago, you're getting everything plated up with Sarah when she tells them to 'go wash up'! The men trail behind as you hear their voices grow closer outside, then there's the telltale creaking of the screen door swinging open.

"Well, looks like Buck's spending the night," Sam announces as he strolls into the house, the Soldier right behind.

A chuckle leaves your lips, "How'd you convince him to do that?" You ask.

"I can set the couch up," Sarah responds with an earnest smile.

One second you're grabbing a bowl from the cabinet below, then transferring the mashed potatoes into it on the counter, and the next you find your world spinning. Hands on the counter in front of you, you're probably breathing harder than you need to as your stomach twists and turns in the way that you know you're bound to throw up. That's not happening. No way. Fighting it, your eyes close. It's hot. Too hot.

Opening your eyes, you find several faces hovering just above you. It's odd, because, you don't hear anything right away. In fact, their voices only begin to filter in after a moment or so as you blink up at them.

"She's awake, Mom!" A boy shouts.

"Is she-? I don't know what to d-" A woman says.

And while you're staring up at the faces, confusion evident on your face, they slowly start to become familiar. Those blue eyes are staring down at you filled with concern. Except... you don't remember when you'd fallen asleep? Yet, it feels as though days have passed, even if you have no memory of them. Why do they look so concerned?

"Are you back?" Bucky asks you calmly, his hand sweeping your hair off your forehead and lying there for a moment. "She's hot, guys," he calls over his shoulder, "Do you have an ice pack or anything?"

"Shit," Sam curses when he approaches, placing a bag of frozen peas where Bucky's hand had just been.

"Sam!" You hear Sarah yell.

"Ooh..." a young boy's voice says in a sing-song voice, to which another joins in.

"Do we take her to the hospital?" Sarah questions, yet you still can't see her. As you're trying to move your head, there's a hand on your shoulder.

"I wouldn't try moving just yet," Sam advises, "it might take a minute for you to fully regain your bearings"

"It's not... necessary, but, it might be worth it just out of precaution?" Bucky responds to Sarah's question over his shoulder. When his focus returns to you, he's moving the cold pack onto your chest. "Here, help me prop up her feet," Bucky asks someone to his left, though you can't see who.

Sam kneels before you where the Soldier had just been and you feel a gentle touch on your wrist. As he eyes his watch, Sam's clearly taking your pulse. Mouth opening and closing a few times, your tongue feels heavy, and you can't voice the questions running through your mind. Everything feels slow, even if they all seem to be moving fast.

Needless to say, what happened affected the rest of the night. Once they'd all settled on not calling an ambulance, you'd finally gotten around to sitting down for dinner.

"Probably just dehydrated from being outside almost all day," Sam states between bites of chicken. "Just- don't do that again. Alright? Take breaks if you need to." Always acting like the big brother he is.

"That's true, you're not used to the heat," Sarah adds. Louisiana heat certainly is something else, that's for sure. Though this hadn't happened before, and you've been here a week? "Promise me you'll at least go to urgent care tomorrow, just to be safe," she encourages.

"Well, it's not like I'm a super soldier or anything," you joke, eliciting a laugh from the boys and a small smirk from Bucky.

It only took a few minutes for you to feel back to normal. Which, is odd, because while you've never passed out before- they always make it look so easy in the movies! Shouldn't you have been back to normal, like, right away?

"-can stick around a little longer," you catch the last bit of what Bucky's saying, finally zoning into the conversation again.

"That's not necessary," Sam dissents.

"It's not a problem, really," Bucky assures, "Look, I'll take her to the doctor tomorrow. How 'bout that?"

"I, for one, say 'yes'!" Sarah replies, voice filtering in from the hallway.

"Then it's settled," Bucky states, and you hear the faint smack of Sam most likely face-palming. Though by the time you look over there he's just eyeing his plate with a frown.

"And you just keep getting your way," Sam comments quietly, "gotta stop at some point."

"I'm sure it will," Sarah remarks with a roll of her eyes before she sticks out her tongue at her brother.

"I really don't need to go to the doctor," you protest, yet it seems they're having none of that. And like that, another fight is started. Yet, quickly ended, too, considering they all pressure you into promising you'll go to the doctor with Bucky tomorrow as chaperone. If it weren't for the kids sitting right there, you're sure they wouldn't have been able to break your resolve. Damn kids!

~~~~~~~~

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[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Four: The Morning After

The Missing Title

Helmut Zemo x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: After yesterday's events, it's time to face a ghost from your past. The only problem is, you'd forgotten the Power Broker has a hit out on all of you. When things go sideways, what can you do?

Words: 7.5k

Warnings: Sexual Inferences, Traumatic Flashbacks, Gunfire, Raids, Death, Gory Descriptions, Violence, Existentialism, Guilt, Harsh Self-Judgment,

Mentions of: Talk of Morals, Life,

A/N: It's been awhile, but I love changing up what I'm writing on from time to time and whatever inspires me and doesn't leave me stuck is what I'm working on. I missed Zemo❤️

Slippers shuffling across the polished wooden floor, you revel in the--far too big--terry cloth bathrobe sleeves brushing the backs of your hands. Blasé as you flick on the electric kettle in the kitchen, the simple task of retrieving a mug from one of the cabinets and an accompanying teabag preoccupy your mind.

"Looks like you had fun last night." Sharon's voice elicits a jump as you startle. "Can't say I would've taken you for the type if I'm honest."

While you'd normally be offended any other time, the relaxed nature you'd acquired after sleeping in a warm plush bed luckily isn't as easily swayed. "What do you mean?" You ask, turning to her to in an attempt to gauge her meaning through her eyes.

Sharon gives you a once over, lips opening for a moment before they close. Having gotten out a tub of strawberries from the fancy bottom drawer of her refrigerator, she plucks one from the container. "All I'm saying is... I'd be careful if I were you." Her eyes shift to the table a few feet away before resettling on your figure. Strawberry lingering against her lips, you notice the faint smirk she dawns before she bites into the fruit.

"So... what's the plan?" Sam's groggy voice asks. With a clap of his hands together, he rubs them for a moment before taking a seat at the table just a few feet from the counter. It's only then that you notice you're not alone anymore. Sam sits at the table while Zemo browses the couple of magazines lying there. It's then that her comment dawns on you. Hiding your embarrassed blush behind your cup of tea, you can only hope and pray neither of them heard.

"I was thinking breakfast, then we can devise a plan for Nagel." Sharon posits with a confident air about her. "Please, help yourselves." Rummaging through her kitchen with ease, you tentatively work around her to find something for yourself.

"We cannot afford to delay too long," the Baron says. All the while he's not torn his gaze from the magazine he's picked up and is now flicking through. Part of you can't keep from ogling him; adorned in a matching white bathrobe, he must've found another. Surely that's why Sharon said something, no? Jumping to conclusions? There was no other plausible reason, right?

"Can't say no to that," Sam teases. Closing the laptop he'd only opened moments before, he slides it aside and stands to get himself something to eat. "A cup o' joe never hurt anyone."

"Best way to start off the day right," Bucky's sarcastic tone emanates from the hallway. As he turns the corner you can only hope he's joking. Seems like something he'd find funny. At least from the lack of acquaintance, that's what you'd guess.

"Most important meal of the day and all," Sam digs at him. With a hand gently encompassing your waist, he skirts past you in search of a mug. "You make coffee?" He asks no one in particular.

"No," Sharon responds. As she spreads cream cheese on her bagel, you debate having one yourself. When was the last time you had one? It's not something you'd typically have in your house, not to mention that these look to be high quality.

"Mm-mm," you reply. With your tea, you hadn't thought to make a pot of coffee. Even if you knew they might've wanted one, you wouldn't know where to start.

Halfway through breakfast, you can't help but feel your blissful demeanor start to slip as nerves begin to crawl toward the forefront of your mind. Surely with the fleeting time at hand, you'll be facing a ghost from your past sooner than you'd like.

"What else do we need? I managed to exhaust a connection last night. I found him; Nagel," Sharon informs you all. Running your fingers over the smooth surface of the grape you'd picked up from your plate, you simply listen to them discuss.

"Where is he?" Bucky asks. Dominant hand encapsulating his coffee mug, he doesn't take his eyes off the steam rising from the cup.

"You got earpieces? I can reroute them through my equipment and link us to a private channel for communication." Sam responds before taking a big bite of the bagel he'd gotten himself. It seems finishing off Sharon's bagels is something you'd all inadvertently tacitly decided.

"He's hiding out in the shipyard. I've got a container number here," Sharon answers as she fishes her phone out of her pocket. Placing it down on the table for all to see, she then tosses her crumpled up napkin onto her plate and stands to discard of her dishes. Zemo follows after her with his own.

Attention drawn to your heart thumping in your chest, you can't help yourself as the words slip from your mouth before you've settled on a way to phrase your thoughts. "Sam- I... I need to know what's expected of me before I go in there. Because I'm..." you hesitate, eyes drifting away from his face as you unconsciously bite your lip.

"Did you hear about the wrap party on Friday evening at Brian's place? I heard Janice is bringing her fiancé! We're finally going to meet him." Partially interrupted from the forms you're manually copying from the computer's formulas as security, the older woman leans on your desk, looming over you. "And for the record, everyone's allowed a plus one," she mentions in a sing-song voice. "Are you bringing someone?"

BOOM! It's the aftershock that jolts your writing hand, the calculations jagged. Screams sound throughout the dark lab as you're met with light shining from the direction of the crash. Looking to Denise you're met with her fearful expression. Eyes widened, lips parted in shock, there's blood running down the side of her temple as you stand from your chair. Gunfire echoes and pings off nearby surfaces as her body slumps on top of you, weighing you down. Pinned beneath her motionless body you try to push her off as black and white passes your vision over and over. It's them, the black regulatory shoes, the white lab coats. Your fellow coworkers, the people that've grown akin to family in the past eight months you've been working on this project, all scatter before your eyes.

"-I'm not doing that again. Okay?" Shoving the memories from your mind, your jaw tenses slightly as you try and figure out the plan.

"Doing what, exactly? You know the plan, we've just discussed the plan. You're either in or you're out, and quite frankly, we need you in," Sam argues. Staring you down across the table, he's got a stern look on his face.

"We don't. Still don't even know why she's here," Bucky mutters from beside him. Taking a sip of his coffee, he looks nonplussed about the entire situation at hand.

"Fine. I need you in. Got it?" Sam corrects himself. "You know more about this entire situation than any of us, and that's saying a hell of a lot with Cyborg over here."

A halfhearted chuckle escapes you, your lips twisting in thought. "So we go in there, we interrogate him? Because this is more of a question of build-up. I mean, there's not really the question of how, since we know he's capable, it was just a matter of time." You point out the real problem. "This is tracking back. Who's funding him? Where did he get the supplies and essentials for this? Because this isn't just some seventh grade science project shit! It requires equipment that costs thousands and thousands of dollars," you retort, unable to help yourself from getting louder as your fear and anger start to surface.

"He's working for the Power Broker, Sharon said," Sam reiterates. Placing your closed fist to your lips, your eyes flit around the table, lingering with each person for a moment. "Okay, so... what's the plan?"

"Arrest him. Get him out of the shop so he can't help anymore," Bucky butts in. Knowing him, however, the lie, or sarcasm--whichever it is--is easily detectable.

Lips curling inward, this is exactly what you were scared of. Head lowering for a moment, you can't help but look anywhere aside the table since no one seems to disagree. "Wow," you say, finally raising your gaze again. "Okay, this is exactly why I can't do this. I'm not going to jail."

"No one said-"

"He's sick! Alright? He's sick, but he's not- it's not like we're some evil scientists running around doing shit for... well, maybe he's doing it for the pleasure of it. Not really though since clearly he just wants namesake, but still-"

"Look, if you help us, you'll get pardoned. You won't have to keep hiding. Isn't that why you flew all the way to Germany?" Sam points out.

As silence overtakes the table and you find yourself lost in thought, it's the sudden movement before your face that tears you from your mind. Gloved hand finally dropping back to his side, you question the man with an acknowledging hum. "Hm?"

"I asked if you were done." Eyes wandering up to meet his face, you're met with a strange look from Bucky. With a subtle shake of your head to ground yourself, you reply with a simple nod and smile. The soldier takes your almost empty plate and heads toward the counter.

"You good?" Sam questions from across the table, his eyes on you. "You know I can't afford to lose you now. Not on this," he reminds.

Met with silence, this time it's Sam who breaks the eye contact as he sighs. He quietly says your name. "I can't promise you it won't end the same. I just can't... but you know what's at stake right now, and we can't lose this chance."

"But you get that this isn't just an infiltrate and demolish kind of deal, right? That's the mistake they made last time." You point out. Despite the worry etched across your face, Sam meets you with a look that can only, really, say one thing:

'Really?' A huff of breath leaves him as he tilts his head back a bit and sits up straighter. "You don't need to tell me twice. This is an infiltration and extraction," he assures you.

With that conversation over and your burden lifted from your shoulders, you feel able to continue with the plan. "Good."

"Here we go, then," Sam announces. Standing, he pats your shoulder as he, too, heads off to dispose of his dishes.

Dressed, ready to go, and thirty minutes later your boots stamp against the damp concrete as you follow Sharon through the stacked containers in the shipyard.

"Madripoor could give New York a run for its money," you hear Sam comment behind you.

"They know how to party," Zemo indulges his conversation. An amused smile threatens an appearance as it tugs at the corners of your lips. It seems Zemo's traveled a lot. You'd ask him about his experiences if only it were another time and place. Travelling is something you never had the luxury of doing, but always dreamed of.

Leading the pack, Sharon guides you as she references some tracker or map on her phone. "With that bounty on your head, the longer you're in Madripoor the less likely you're ever leaving." Her words loom ominously over your heads. While last night had managed to temporarily eradicate the reality of being hunted by the Power Broker, the reminder was needed. As she comes to a stop in the junction of four containers, she turns to face you all.

"All right, he's in there: Container 4261," she points out, "I'll keep an eye out while you talk to Nagel, but hurry, we're on borrowed time." Withdrawn from her pocket, she extends a handful of earpieces. As the men grab theirs, you take a deep breath and follow suit. You can do this, you remind yourself. Facing parts of your past may be dreadful, but in this case, there's no way to set things right without having to dive head first into it. There's no use running from it any longer.

Earpiece in place, you follow Sam as he marches right up to the container. He opens it without much trouble. When he doesn't go in, you step out from behind Bucky to see what's up. The container is dark and empty; there's no way that's right. With a look around, it doesn't seem like anyone's followed you, and Sharon said this was the right one. Either someone lied to her, or... there has to be something more.

"Hey, Sharon," Sam calls, testing the communication line. "You sure this is the right one? It's completely empty." As he stands in the doorway, you slink around him and enter the metal box.

"Positive," she confirms, "It has to be."

While it's dark, you can still make out the blank walls of the container. That is, until your light is blocked. You look back to see Sam and Zemo follow after you, yet the light is lacking now. With a faint click Zemo shines a flashlight, something you should've thought to bring. As he steps around you to delve further into the container, you search the side walls for any sort of clue or sign.

All of the sudden there's a loud creak. Stopped in your tracks, you whip your head around to find Zemo's eyes slightly widened and the back wall pushed in. It's a door! As everyone gauges each other upon this revelation, Zemo decides to push it open and see what's inside. With quick feet, you follow him. Before you can follow the set of stairs up and into the light, however, Sam stops the both of you.

Your friend takes the lead as he has his gun held up in a readied stance. A glance behind you shows that Bucky's done the same, his gaze behind himself to make sure you all aren't followed. With quiet and cautious steps, Sam's halfway up the stairs before Bucky pushes past you in pursuit. At the bottom of the stairs, Zemo simply lifts a gloved hand in a tacit gesture. 'Ladies first' you can only hope, gut twisting and turning at the terrifying alternative.

Fluorescent light illuminates your group as you make your way into the laboratory. 'You know I'm waitin' here for you~' Music plays loudly throughout the container and you can't help but wonder how this man possibly thought it was a good idea. Wouldn't he be ready for something like this? It's that thought that instantly has you recoiling into yourself mentally. You weren't expecting it. None of you were when the SWAT raided that lab. 'Comin' home, baby, now. You don't know what I'm goin' through~'

As you all spread out, you find yourself lagging behind as you're more interested on the setup rather than the man. After all, this... is some authentic tech. An actual laboratory, an expensive one at that. Eyes running over the grow lights, the centrifuges, melting point actuator, it's clear there's more than meets the eye.

Suddenly the music stops. "Doctor Nagel?" Sam's voice calls out.

"Who are you? What do you want?" That familiar nasally voice responds. The creeps run up your spine and elicit a shiver from you.

"We know you created the super-soldier serum," Sam states.

"Get out of my lab," Nagel responds. As you contemplate approaching and interfering, the sound of footsteps makes you halt.

"Hey!" You hear Sam call out. He's trying to flee, your anxious mind worries. He doesn't really think you'll just let him go... does he? As the footsteps cease, you gauge Bucky, the closest person to you. "You know who he is, right?" The soldier's gaze is focused on something, and you realize Nagel has to be right behind the corner, a machine blocking your view of one another. There's no response. "This is Baron Zemo. I know you've heard of him, too, right?"

Someone stumbles a couple feet before you; it only takes a split-second to recognize it's Nagel. "You seem like a pretty smart guy," Sam compliments, "So you better become conversational real quick." It's then you notice how your friend has a hand wrapped around Nagel's bicep. With a shove of him into the metallic wall, the scientist turns.

Unfortunately for you, Zemo had taken it upon himself to insert himself between you and Sam. He clearly wants a piece of Nagel. You're still blocked from view though, unable to determine what exactly is going on. "How about a counter proposal?" Nagel barters. As you step out from Zemo's shadow and get closer to Sam is when it happens. He sees you; there's a faint look of recognition in his eyes, a parting of his lips, and a slight furrow of his brow. "Make me a better offer and I'll talk."

Despite your past, your presence doesn't deter him. He's far gone. The creepy and nihilistic man you once knew is now completely devoid of any self-preserving instinct. "Guys, we have company," Sharon's voice warns through the earpiece.

All the sudden it seems like Bucky's had enough. With a sturdy hand he grabs Nagel by the shirt before tugging him closer. Shifting his hand onto his collar he guides the weak man toward an empty chair before forcing him into it. Never straying the gun from its target--his head--Bucky intimidates him. "You're with these guys?" He questions, spitting in your direction as his eyes draw in on you, narrowing with contempt. "Who's to say you weren't the little rat all those years ago?" A vile laugh emanates from the man as he throws his head back.

Jaw clenching, hands balling up into fists, you internally writhe in the anger he's stirring up. Someone might have spilled the project's secret contents to the Government, but it certainly wasn't you. That information would cost most of your coworkers their lives, and leave the rest scarred, scared, and forever fleeing from the fed's eyes in search of security and home. You'd never betray your family like that. Never, not even for reward.

"Every bounty hunter in the city is here-" Sharon's voice comes through again. "We gotta go!"

The metallic echo of a round piercing the wall somewhere behind Nagel elicits a gasp from both you and said weasel of a man. Bucky doesn't even need say anything to intimidate him. "Okay! Okay, I was brought into HYDRA's Winter Soldier program to pick up their work after the five failed test subjects in Siberia." Despite his clear fear shown in not meeting any of your eyes, Nagel starts to gain confidence as he takes his time. "When HYDRA fell, I was recruited by the CIA, as you know." Eerie blue eyes settle on you as he speaks.

"They had blood samples from an American test subject with semi-stable traces of serum in his system. After much labor, I was able to isolate the necessary compounds in his blood. I recreated it on my own. Without any of you. I was a god. I did what no other scientist since Erskine was able to do."

The monotonous tone of his voice starts to wear on you, and despite knowing what he's talking about, you don't dare interrupt him when he's on a roll and bound to spill something. Anything. And it doesn't just seem to be you, either, as Zemo turns his back on him, beginning to walk around the lab analyzing the environment.

"But mine was going to be different. No clunky machines or jacked up bodies. Mine was going to be subtle, optimized, perfect," Nagel brags.

"How have we never heard about this?" Sam's voice is quiet in comparison as everyone's eyes turn to him momentarily.

"You haven't?" Nagel's questioning look toward Sam turns into a glare as he hones back in on you. "You haven't," he repeats, a slight shake of his head. One that almost reminisces of disapproval. "Because..." He begins to answer Sam's query. "Before I was able to complete my work, I turned to dust. Then when I returned, it was five years later, program had been abandoned, so I came here. The Power Broker was more than happy to fun the recreation of my work."

Just like any other day in your office--a laboratory--nothing was unordinary. Of course, you knew of the tensions in the East, and while things had been on and off going for years now, the presence of aliens that day would have made things known earlier, if only you all hadn't been shut inside work with your faces buried in the business you were hired to do. Regardless... even if you knew what was coming, was there anything you could do to change the way things would inevitably unfold? No.

While the Avengers might have been off fighting on your worlds' behalf somewhere in the East, you were busy doing what you could too. Had you realized your employer's intentions from the beginning, would it have changed things? Perhaps. But you can't go back and change time.

It happened in an instant; the gasps and crashes of different equipment dropping all around you had the group of you in panic. Looks around only left the lot of you puzzled and in distress as your coworkers and friends began crumbling before your vision into what could only be described as a powdery dust.

Wilfred Nagel was one of them. It was probably the only time you'd seen any notion of some tell in emotion on his face.

Eyes widened in fear as the beaker fell through his disintegrated hand, both of your attention shifted from the broken glass up to one another's faces. Despite being across the room from one another, the utter look of despair, distraught, and utter horror behind his irises had him seeking out help. You were frozen in place, stock still, as whatever it was continued to consume his body rapidly in an eerie, silent, and fast pace. His lips parted as he tried to say something... but by then it was too late. The last of it eviscerated his face and dissolved the man right before your very eyes. It was the last time you'd ever see him.

Or so you thought.

"How many vials did you make?" Sam prods, attempting to get the facts.

"Twenty," Nagel answers. The lack of emotion or concern on his face only causes dread to further sink in the pit of your stomach. He'd already been frighteningly stoic when you'd first met the man upon hire, but this... this feels as though he came back vile, with any sort of remorse he'd held out for humanity wiped clean. Revenge consumed him whole, and now he was nothing but a shell of the man he used to be.

"You didn't!" You exclaim, brows furrowed in shock.

"Karli Morgenthau stole those, so... I can only imagine what the Power Broker has planned for that poor girl." The lack of remorse, the apathetic speak of logical contemplation leaves you angered.

"Where's Karli now?" Sam interrogates.

"I don't know where she is, but a couple days ago she called and asked if I could help someone named Donya Madani. Poor woman has tuberculosis," Nagel explains.

"And you didn't. Did you?" You poke at him, no longer able to hide your equal contempt for the man.

"-Typical of overpopulation in displacement camps like that," he continues.

"Well, what happened to her?" Sam asks, clearly unamused by the need to continue prodding for information that's clearly relevant.

"Not my pig, not my farm," Nagel answers. A sneer displays itself across your face and you can't keep yourself from turning on him. It's one thing to be a scientist, to understand many of the mechanics that make up life... but it's another to be heartless and cruel. To not help those in need? Those without the capabilities, knowledge, or necessities? And after the Snap? When so many suffered. You'd seen how people rallied together, how humanity actually felt like it meant something again, and now? Now it's like none of that ever mattered anymore.

"Is there any serum in this lab?" Bucky questions, finally putting his hat in the ring. It only takes a moment of silence for the soldier to press the barrel of his pistol into Nagel's temple. Whatever apathy had been there before is now replaced with fear again. Clearly, he has the ability to feel something.

"No," Nagel answers.

"Now what?" Bucky asks. Both of you look toward Sam as he'd been the one leading this plan originally.

Just then you spot someone run in. "Guys, we're seriously outta time here-" Sharon exclaims. A gunshot rings out. You jump, body going rigid. "No!" You hear Sam yell, motion on either side of you as you hear the shuffle and bang of someone shoved into the container's wall. Eyes settled on Nagel's body lying on the floor, blood pooling from his chest out onto the pristine floor. It stains his shirt, the dark red bleeding into the blue fabric and turning it a dark sort of maroon. You can't bring yourself to look away.

"What did you do?" Sharon urges.

Boom! You're thrown to the floor, heat burning your backside as a weight lies heavy across your side. An alarm blares throughout the lab and groans emanate from across the aisle. You don't know when you closed your eyes, but upon opening them you're met with Bucky's stoic expression. Eyes searching one another's momentarily his blue eyes scan you before he's pushing himself up and off you.

"You okay?" The soldier asks. All you can do is nod.

It'd all happened so fast.

He'd saved you; having pushed you out of the way he must've landed on you partially. It all happened so fast. As the soldier pushes himself back up onto his feet you can see the fire roaring behind him. What the fuck happened? There was nothing that should've caused an explosion like that. At least... nothing you saw.

The alarm is loud, yet the clinking of vials and test tubes rattling in their sets are ominous in a way that immediately sets you into flight mode. There are chemicals and compounds here that will cause a secondary explosion any second now. Reality set in, you immediately follow Bucky's lead as you push yourself up, uncaring of the glass shards that may imbed themself in your palms. Glass crunches beneath your boots as you stumble, and there's a faint hissing that reminds you of the kettle this morning. Only you know this is far more dangerous.

"Anybody see Zemo?" Sam's voice calls out. You hardly make it out as the alarm drowns him out, yet you heard him just barely. You'd seen it. In your peripheral you'd seen something fly by in the corridor. It had to be Zemo. That's the only explanation that makes sense. With Sam's concern in your mind, you can only think of one thing to do.

You take off after Zemo.

"Let's go!" It's Bucky's voice. He's got them, Sharon and Bucky; he'd never leave them behind, from everything you know about him, and even if he did- they're more than capable of taking care of themselves.

You've barely caught up. The tail of his expensive coat is all you're chasing. Rounding one corner and then the next, you follow him blindly through the shipyard. Boot-clad feet stomp against the pavement in matching strides as you chase after him. "Stop!" You yell. "Stop running!" You refuse to let him get away.

Surprisingly, it works. Zemo comes to a halt and lingers for a moment as you close the distance between you. Finally a matter of an arm's length away, you don't know what you'll do to subdue him and stop him from running off again, but you're not thinking straight. He's suddenly turning toward you. "I'm not letting you-" the rest of your sentence is muffled under his glove. Pressed up against the closest container, Zemo stares down at you with ferocity in his eyes and his leather glove covering your mouth. Surprise quickly turns to understanding in your eyes as his tacit request is met. Be quiet.

The sound of thudding footfall approaching comes to a stop and you realize that your yelling might've drawn unwanted attention. Metallic pings resound in the distance from ricocheted fire and you know that the fight is going on back where you'd come from. It's a matter of moments before the thudding returns and you both listen to the bounty hunters run on the other side of the container toward the commotion.

Pushing his gloved hand off your mouth, you glare up at him. "I'm not letting you get away," you scold him in a whisper.

"I'm not running away," Zemo bites back at the same volume. With a look around he slowly steps back before returning his gaze down to you. "Follow me. Stay close."

The Baron takes off again, this time with you close behind. You round a container only to be met with two men wielding guns; where you halt, Zemo has no hesitation and charges into one of them. He knocks the shoulder of one, his hands going to the gun and trying to disarm him. It's then that you notice the other raising the gun at you. Jumping aside, you feel something graze your bicep as a whiz resounds beside you. Heart accelerating rapidly, you're left scrambling to your feet when you find yourself towered over. Who it is? You can't tell fast enough as you're being kicked back onto your butt, pain spreading through your stomach. As you look up at your attacker, you find he's being pulled backward by Zemo, effectively taking the man by surprise as the gun drops.

The other bounty hunter is slumped against the nearest container with blood dripping from his temple. "Ack!" The pained noise elicited from Zemo captures you're attention and you're reaching for the gun that'd clattered onto the pavement. Luckily it didn't go off- not that you have time to think on it now. In a tangle of bodies, the two men are still wrestling one another. With a slow lift of the gun, you're aiming it, finger hovering over the trigger.

Eyes drawn to the movement of the man's hands into his pockets retrieving a switchblade, you can't breathe as the juxtaposition of Zemo finally trapping him in a headlock does nothing. He's going to get stabbed. Bang! Smoke trickles from the chamber as you stand there, watching as the man's body falls limp, the dot of red on his shirt beginning to pool. "Good," Zemo praises, shrugging the body out of his hands and onto the pavement. "I doubted you had it in you for a moment there," he chuckles to himself as he dusts off his gloves.

Stepping over the body, he approaches, lifting your hands into his own as he presses the gun back into them upon spotting you attempting to dispose of it. "Take this." Pistol shoved back into your hands, you quickly right it and do as you've seen in your limited exposure and on tv. "You will need it."

There's no words coming out. Nothing you can say to stop the pit in your stomach from deepening. You might not have time to think on the precarious thoughts tempting to take center stage, yet you know you can't let yourself do so. "We need higher ground," he mutters. With a final look around he sets off. Vaulting himself onto the stack of barrels and pallets at the other end of the container, he gains leverage to climb atop. You follow suit.

"You're supposed to follow me!" Sam yells.

"And where are we now?" Bucky counters.

You can hear them arguing even from here. Wherever here is. While the Baron might take big strides resulting in the obvious clank, clank, clank of his boots against the metal, you take quieter more cautious steps. He retrieves something from his pockets, and it's only as he tugs it over his head you realize it's a mask. Why though? You're unsure. As you rear closer you can see he was right: you have a better vantage point from here. Worry washes over you as you spot your friends trapped under a shipping container with people approaching on either side.

Without warning, Zemo aims and shoots a pipe a few meters away. Boom! In a fiery explosion you watch as a group of bounty hunters going after your friends burn. They're down. The Baron takes the lead as he jumps down onto the adjacent container and launches himself off that one down onto the concrete.

Dodging one man's advances, the Baron shoots the attacker's partner before spinning, using that same man as a shield to shoot another bounty hunter approaching from the container to your right.

Still standing atop the container, you watch as some more people file in from the left. They're in a blocked viewpoint from your friends. Crouching, you vault yourself off the container and ignore the pain that shoots up your shins as you try to catch the attackers off guard. Gun aimed before you, the first man walks out into the open before you shoot him. Pop! Pop! Pop! One man down. Two to go. The next two emerge, one darting for their friend in an attempt to save him. You take that opportunity to shoot. He's injured, but not dead yet when you feel something whiz by you. The third man, who'd taken your opportunity to his advantage is coming for you! Another bang comes from behind and you find yourself cowering, hands covering your head as you realize someone is shooting at you too! You're screwed.

The advancing man coughs, however, blood sputtering at his lips as he comes to a halt. With a shaky hand he lifts it to his stomach before you turn and see that it wasn't someone out to get you... but was someone protecting you? It was Zemo... and knowing him, you'd sooner guess that he was simply finishing the job so your friends can make a quick exit.

You watch as Buck leads Sharon and Sam down an aisle. With a quick look between the two, Zemo's closer. While you've been left behind, you chase after the Baron who's only a few feet ahead of you. Every few feet he slows down, head turning this way and that as you eventually realize he's reading the numbers on the shipping containers. While you have no idea why, you don't question him. He turns a corner and stops. Opening the latch, he spots you in his peripheral as he turns his head and waves you closer. "Get in."

While it's almost pitch black inside as the shipping containers parallel this one are stacked high enough to block out most of the sun, you can see the shadow of a large object. Gently guiding you further inside, there's a faint click before the container is illuminated. His flashlight, right. Why hadn't you thought of one of those? Or better yet, why didn't Sam, for God's sake? You'd think someone with more experience would've guessed what we were up against beforehand.

Lips parting in awe, you can't help but ogle the car for a moment as you don't think you've ever had the luxury of being in a convertible. "Hello," Zemo practically purrs, and you're more than sure it's for the car. After having seen his little collection back in Germany, it's clear he has a thing for them. "Ladies first," he teases. This time you know it's toward you, and while the car is pressed up against one of the walls of the container, it makes getting in the passenger's seat difficult. With that in mind, you simply opt for the back. Climbing in behind Zemo as he takes the driver's seat, you meet his eye in the rearview mirror as he adjusts it. "Like what you see?"

"Can't say you don't have taste," you joke. With that, you're out of there. The wind whips around you, and you're suddenly thankful you'd tied it back this morning as the car expertly swerves and maneuvers the crates. The car eventually rolls to a stop just before your friends. "Supercharged," Zemo touts, a small smirk tugging up the corner of his lips.

"You're going back to jail," Sam states, clearly unamused. You hadn't even had time to think about how Zemo found them before the banter began. Geez.

"Do you want to find Karli or not?" Zemo asks, trying to ration with him. An eyebrow quirked, you all wait for their response.

"He's right. We need him. There's two of us and at least twenty of them," Bucky defends. Opening the passenger side door, he climbs in. Sam opts for the back seat beside you. Any other time you might be offended that Bucky hadn't included you in the count, however you're sure he sees you more as a Bioengineer than a Fighter.

"Fine, but if you try that shit again," Sam warns, still eyeing Zemo skeptically.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Zemo quips smoothly. With a shake of your head and a roll of your eyes, you decide to chime in.

"Hey, at least I didn't let him get away," you point out. If there's anything you accomplished today, it was that.

"I saw that," Sam acknowledges, a chuckle escaping him as he shakes his head with a reluctant smile on his face.

"Well, that was one hell of a reunion," Sharon comments as she shuts the back seat door. Wait. She's not coming?

"Come back to the States with us," Sam offers in an attempt to persuade her.

"I told you, I can't. Just get me that pardon you promised me," she responds. With that, she's headed in the direction you'd come from. Fortunately, you know that you'd gotten every bounty hunter you'd come across. She should be alright, she can clearly handle herself. At least, that's what you tell yourself out of comfort.

"Thanks for everything," Sam calls after her. Sliding down into his seat, he turns his sight toward the seat in front of him. Where Bucky sits. "You're not gonna move your seat up, are you?"

"No," the soldier responds without hesitation. This elicits a chuckle on your behalf, though a pointed look from Sam is all it takes for you to pull your attention elsewhere.

--------

While you were out of leads and aboard Zemo's private jet once more, you have no idea where it's taking you all. Did Sam really intend on returning to the US and harboring a fugitive? Were you going to give up and just go home? The morose thoughts had consumed you since you'd gotten to safe space.

Eyes on Madripoor's city lights disappearing under the settling fog over the island, you can't help the incessant bouncing of your knee as worry brews within you. The recent memories of shooting those men in the shipyard gnaw at your moral scale; you may have never been directly involved with the Avengers, or your friend's antics, but that doesn't mean you hadn't done bad things in life. Yet... taking someone's life? That's on an entirely different scale, you fear. Sure, you could argue that they were after you and it was a matter of self defense, yes... but was it? Couldn't you have taken them out some other way? Rendered them unconscious?

Nevertheless, there's no point in arguing the different ways today could've unfolded when there's no way to change what happened. It doesn't change things. You killed two people, aided and abetted in more deaths. That's blood on your hands, something that despite the physical act of washing them of their blood, will never truly rid them of the true sentiment.

You can spot Zemo drying his hands off on a towel as he heads toward the galley in your peripheral, Sam pacing the short distance of the aisle repeatedly as he'd picked up a call you can only assume is business related.

"Donya Madani. She's a refugee, yeah," Sam explains over the phone. His voice stirs you from your internal war, the recipient on the other end must be done talking for now.

"I still don't understand how you can get service up here," you mutter jokingly to yourself. "Always thought the plane was supposed to explode or some shit if that happened." Head leant back against the jet's leather seat, you turn your attention onto Sam, watching him pace.

At this point you can deduce who's on the other end of the line. Joaquin must say something as Sam quiets again, the cabin silent for another moment, the only sound being that of the wind passing by the windows and the simultaneous quiet roar of the jet's engine.

"Okay. Call me if you get a hit," Sam instructs. Heart leaping in your chest, you know he's about to hang up.

"Say 'hi' for me, please!" You shout, not wanting Sam to ignore you, and to miss this opportunity. Joaquin's been your best friend since you were kids, after all, and you miss him. If today had shown you anything, it's that you weren't the only ones after the serum, and there were people willing to kill in order to protect it. Tomorrow is not guaranteed by any means.

"Thanks, Torres," Sam responds after another moment. "Oh, and-" Sam says your name, "says 'hi'." A light-hearted and audible huff of breath leaves the man as he plops back into his seat. "He says 'hi' back for the record." There's a tired smile on your lips as Sam releases a sigh. It's clear that exhaustion has consumed your group for the time being and rest is needed.

"You okay?" Bucky speaks up, turning his head toward your friend.

"Yeah," Sam responds, though it doesn't sound entirely convincing. "Just thinkin about all the shit Sharon had to go through. And Nagel referring to the American Test Subject like Isaiah wasn't even a real person." The Avenger sits up, turning to face the soldier. Your lips curl inward in a grimace as guilt sits heavy on your chest. Hopefully, Sam doesn't think of you the same.

There was a reason Nagel referred to 'Isaiah' like that. And while you might only just be learning the name of the test subject yourself, you have no idea of his background. The government did it on purpose. Most clinics do it intentionally; it's a way to keep things isolated and somewhat confidential. Almost like a doctor's confidentiality agreement. The government may know the details concerning Isaiah's specimen, but you, the scientists handling it were never to know.

And you know the only reason is to cover up America's hands getting dirty.

While you'd drifted into your own thoughts again while the boys were talking, you finally manage to tune back in. Whether they know the circumstances of your employment or not isn't really necessary at the moment.

"But maybe I made a mistake," Sam says. Though you're now lost as to what the topic's about.

"You did," Bucky agrees.

"Yeah," Sam continues, "Maybe I shouldn't have put it in a museum, maybe I should have destroyed it."

The shield. That damned thing, that's what this is about. Garnering your attention, you can't help but eavesdrop. Albeit, you're sure they know considering it's a small space. Not that you'd ever divulge any sensitive information if it were to come out.

"Look, that shield represents a lotta things to a lotta people, including me," Bucky points out. "The world is upside down, we need a new Cap, and it ain't gonna be Walker, so before you destroy it, I'll take it from him myself."

You wonder what Bucky's plan is, and how exactly he determines to do that... but you also know it's not your place to ask. It certainly isn't the time either, considering all of your emotional states. Just as the buzzing of someone's cellphone chimes throughout the cabin, Zemo returns. Plate in hand, he wordlessly offers you it. Dinner, you suppose.

"Thanks," you graciously respond while taking the plate into your hands and place it across your lap. A silent nod of his head, you take that as the closest thing to 'you're welcome' that you'll receive.

"Yeah?" Sam says. "Yeah... yeah. Okay." The boys, focused on the call, Sam listening while Bucky stares, as if trying to read the man and figure out what's going on before Sam can say, Zemo returns again. Two plates in his hands this time, he offers the men dinner as well. "Thanks, good work." As the Baron takes a seat beside the men, you all wait intently for whatever news it is Sam's gotten. "They found Madani. Dead. She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea."

Sat in contemplation upon the revelation, Zemo suddenly points his finger, the motion catching your eye. "I have a place we can go," he announces. While none of you question it, you can't help but wonder about it. How many places does he have? And where? All across the globe? How long does his contact list go, exactly? Yet, the Baron sits back in his seat, an unreadable expression across his face. "I, for one, am looking forward to coming face to face with Karli." As you all process the change in plans, Zemo speaks up again. "Oeznik, we're changing the course."

--------

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[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Three: Fate Rewritten

The Missing Title

Helmut Zemo x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: After bumping into Sharon, you're escorted back to her apartment in High-Town. What lies in wait is way more than you'd anticipated in store for your night.

Words: 6.4k

Warnings: Partying, Alcohol, Power Dynamics, Semi-Smutty, Inferences toward sex, Age Gap

Mentions of: Government, Betrayal, Treason, Hypocrisy, Grief

A/N: I've been waiting so long to get to this part! Ahhh, I feel like this is really when things will start to change, considering the reader's backstory and her growing relationships with the guys. Not to mention that some of the main plot points are finally being set in motion. I decided to not fully wind up writing them together since the chapter got so long, but I'm sure it'll def pop up in flashbacks later on down the line.

It's safe to say that you're more than a little out of it by the time you guys get into Sharon's vehicle. She insists on driving, and the guys need a good view of Zemo to make sure he's in check. That leaves the three of you in the back: Sam, you, and Bucky. As your journey takes you back a similar way you'd come, you can't help but still be fascinated with the lights. What's Sharon got in store for you all? What's her plan? While you're not super familiar with her, you wonder what she was doing in Low Town Madripoor in the first place. Surely, she hasn't been following you all this whole time.

Once she parks outside a luxury-style apartment, you follow Sam out the back door and follow Sharon into her place. "Woah," you whisper, taking in the fact that not only one security guard--slash--doorman stands out front, but two. Through a big metal sliding door lies an art exhibit, glass containers lined with neon blue lights illuminate different sculptures and craftsmanship. Real antique and pricey-looking things.

"Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well," Sam comments as he walks beside Sharon alongside the containers. Whatever she'd been going through when you'd first had your run-in has clearly dissipated as she seems to come to life upon Sam's teasing.

"Well, at some point I thought if I had to hustle, might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I can get for a real Monet?" She asks, gesticulating with her arms as she explains her situation. While Zemo lingers a few steps behind you with Bucky trailing, you can't help but slow your steps upon this information.

"Easy, deactivate your hustle mode," Sam warns, "You sell fake Monets." He wants to clarify. While Sharon might pretend to allude to a profited criminal life such as Zemo, Sam clearly thinks she's a goodie-two-shoes.

"No, she means real. This gallery specializes in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. Classics," Zemo explains nonchalantly as he follows Sharon, continuing to round the exhibit.

"So it's true then? What they say..." You ask them, eyes shifting from Zemo onto Sharon, then finally Bucky who stands a few feet before you while Sam occupies the space by your side.

"It's true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this," Bucky answers, eyes still taking in the pastel-dotted canvas.

"There's no way," you whisper to yourself, voice trailing off as you take in the scenery. Heading down the two steps, you approach Bucky's side, eyes scanning over the Monet painting before you. You've seen his other works in museums, though now you know they were fakes. Regardless, you don't think you'd be able to tell the difference.

"Okay, guys, I see what you're doing. You're more worldly than good old Sam," your friend complains, still stationed where you stood a few moments ago.

"Yeah? What's Google say?" Bucky asks, a playful tone curling around his words as he physically rounds Sam. This elicits your attention as you shift your gaze onto Sam, glad he's now enlightened onto the, well... not-so theory of conspiracy you and Bucky both seem to know about.

"No shit," Sam exclaims, clearly bewildered by the thought. In all honesty, you can't blame him. To think people would do something so greedy and frivolous? Useless? It takes seeing it firsthand to really believe, and it seems Sam's eyes are finally opening to that aspect.

"Come on, guys-" Sharon calls from the stairs, Zemo waiting a few steps behind her as they stare in your general direction. "You need to change. I'm hosting clients in an hour," She informs.

While you don't question her, you are curious as to what sort of clients and business she does... besides selling art, that is. There's a world of art, of course, yet you know that there's only so much a lifestyle of it can afford. Following the group upstairs, you're taken aback by the fact that this whole place is starting to seem like Sharon's.

"Of course, I've got all this stuff out here for you guys-" Sharon eyes the men, "-but I've got a few things you can borrow for tonight. Come with me," she commands.

Following Sharon through a series of archways and pristine doors you find yourself in a massive bedroom. Intricate patterns are embroidered on the comforter, and through an open doorway, you can see that there's a walk-in closet. It's precisely where she's led you, her hands gesturing for you to follow. "I know. Nice right? Every girl needs a walk-in," she comments before chuckling to herself.

Taken aback by the wide array of shoes on the shelves, purses on hangars, coats, dresses, pants, and shirts all hang neatly in their place, their own rack for each category of piece. Though you aren't sure where to even start, let alone if you even want to. Everything is too expensive, you couldn't possibly use them. Sharon speaks up.

Her fingers run across the fabric, only stopping once she spots something, though her back is to you and therefore your view is obscured. "Try this on, I have the shoes to go with them and together? I'm sure you'll have a great night!" She says over her shoulder before winking. With a quick hand she tosses the hangar to you, which you scramble to catch. "I'll see you downstairs, then."

The dress is a plain black fabric, a halter top cut, two slits on either side of your hips at the start of your thighs. It's a little more exposing than what Zemo had picked, though with everything that's happened tonight, you feel for some reason that you can't bring yourself to care. If someone sees something, it's not like it's the end of the world. Besides, with this dress you could wear a thong or panties. Though the panties would have to be matching or sexy, intentionally meant to be seen as a fashion statement. Deciding to just go for the dress, no bra needed and your panties already discarded, you're glad for the comfy snug fit the fabric offers. It's far more stretchy and accommodating than Zemo's. The shoes you have on work, the only thing left to do is to put your hair up. Finding a claw clip on Sharon's vanity, you figure she won't mind if you borrow it for tonight. After all, it's a lot less intimate than a dress.

With a wet wipe from the bathroom, you're all good to go. Makeup is natural enough to pass as anyone, hair is different, so is your dress, and while the shoes may not be, with the darkness of the gallery you're sure no one will notice. Especially not if there's going to be drinking; and no good party lacks a variety of drink. Heading back to the foyer Sharon had originally brought you to, you find the guys settling in nicely.

Taking in the intricate pieces placed throughout the room, you inspect each one carefully. "Much better," Sharon comments, heels clicking against the wooden floors announcing her return.

"What's going on, Sharon? You don't ever wanna come back home?" Sam asks. The shuffle of fabric and the faint tinkling of metal tells you he's changing his shirt again! Trying to find something suitable for him is practically impossible, and this, you swear. Out of your peripheral vision, you see Sharon place something on the arm of the couch while Zemo stands by the bar.

"They'll lock me up if I ever step foot back in the States. Madripoor doesn't allow extradition," She informs.

"Good to know," you joke to yourself. Fingers running along the smooth wood of the desk behind the couch, you don't notice how the comment seems to have everyone's eyes lingering on you for a moment before Sam chuckles and shakes his head.

"Look, sorry I didn't call, but after the Blip and the chaos, I just..." He attempts. This piques your interest, not initially intent on eavesdropping, though this sounds like something a lover might say. Did Sam and Sharon-? You don't wanna know... do you?

"Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right?" Her tone softens, a genuine question reaching out to form some sort of connection. An attempt to regain a friendship, you think. "I mean the way you gave up that shield, deep down you must know it's all hypocrisy."

Eyes rising from the necklace displayed by the clothes rack, your eyebrows furrow in surprise. Wasn't Sharon CIA? To join the government so outright, then denounce it only a few years later? Something's fishy about it and eerie in a way you don't like. Even if what she's saying elicits a subconscious subtle nod of your head.

"He knows. And not so deep down," Zemo comments with a raise of his drink. This garners everyone's attention for a moment. You can't help but stare as you linger on him. Curious... Questioning.

"By the way, how is the new Cap?" Sharon asks, hands in her pockets. You aren't CIA by any means, but you know how to read body language. She's clearly got her guard up, but for what? You're not sure.

"Don't get me started," Bucky groans.

"Please, you buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit," Sharon argues. You round the room, peeking through the windowed panes of the glass doors into surrounding rooms to see what goodies lie there. If the rooms you've seen so far are anything to go by, you're sure the rest of the apartment complex is loaded with treasures. "Before you were his pet psychopath-" it doesn't take looking to know she's referring to Zemo, considering her positioning and emphasis, "-you were Mr. America! Cap's best friend."

Although you don't comment, you can't help the way your lips curl inward in a silent attempt at holding back any sort of chortle or chuckle from emerging.

"Wow. She's kind of awful now," Bucky comments. While you might guess he may be joking sarcastically, you can't be sure. Is he just insulting her? Being passive-aggressive? You can't tell.

"Karli Morgenthau and at least seven others have taken the serum," Sam informs, passing you as he rounds the couch the other way and sits across from Bucky.

"You guys really should steer clear of all this for your own safety," Sharon warns. Being in Madripoor and clearly in a position of wealth and selling artwork underground, she must know the rumors.

"We know it's a risk, but we won't leave until we find the person who cracked the code," Sam responds, unfazed and defiant of her advice. Elbows on his knees he leans in closer.

"We got a name. Wilfred Nagel," Bucky discloses. Sharon gets up and crosses Bucky to get to the bar, Zemo gets out of her way and walks toward you to sit in the lone chair by the side table.

"Nagel works for the Power Broker," Sharon replies. A dissatisfied hum rumbles in your chest. You don't want to think about the past, nor worry about how you're going to find the Power Broker to stop the supplier.

"We need your help, Sharon. I can get your name cleared," Sam offers, all the men's eyes intent on her as she pours a drink. Fingers running over the edge of a tapestry hung on the opposite wall, you listen intently.

"You haggling with my life?" She asks, tone sounding genuine to you.

"Not like that," Sam corrects.

"I don't buy that," She responds, and really, you can't blame her. "You pretending like you can clear my name."

You have to admit that Sharon is starting to grow on you in some sense. She's smart, that much is clear. While you don't outwardly boast the things you know will be demonized, she does, and you can respect her for that, if anything. Though you haven't weighed in much, you've been listening. Of course everyone has their judgments and suspicions, and while you may be leaping to conclusions, there's a fishy suspicion brewing in your mind. You only wonder if anyone else is catching onto what Sharon is putting down. Eyes flickering over to Zemo for a moment, you notice him meet your gaze. Immediately looking back to Sharon, you can't help the tiny smile that snags at your lips, blush forming on your cheeks. Originally intending to gather intel, for some reason you couldn't handle the pressure of his gaze.

"-I'm willing to try if you are," you zone back in on what they're saying. "They cleared the bionic staring machine, and he killed almost everybody he's met," Sam points out. A chuckle escapes your lips and you shrink in on yourself, not having expected that.

"-I heard that," Bucky comments to Sam, though his eyes and dissatisfied look are aimed at you. You don't even have to see it from your peripheral to feel his stare, the sense of it sending an internal sort of shiver down your spine.

"I don't trust charity," Sharon posits, intent on finishing their conversation.

"All right, a deal then. You help us out, and we get your name cleared." Sharon accepts Sam's extended hand and they shake on it. Downing her drink, she places the used tumbler aside and starts toward the door you'd entered from.

"Well, I sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party. Try to stay outta trouble. I'll see what I can find." With that, she's out of the foyer and onto whatever business it is that she's doing.

"Trouble," Zemo repeats playfully with a shrug of his shoulders, a mischievous look in his eyes.

"Yeah, that's what you better not be," you warn. Eyes meeting his, you can't help but find that his playfulness has spread to you, even if you know you can switch into gear and act in accordance with the mission if need be.

"Well, you know me," Zemo taunts. With a swig of his drink, he lays the finished glass atop the coaster on the table beside his chair.

"That's the problem," Bucky quips, standing as Zemo moves to follow where Sharon had gone.

--------

You have to admit, with wherever Sharon stands in your likes, she can throw a good party... that much is clear. Originally determined to view all the authentic art pieces lingering around the gallery, it hadn't actually taken as long as you'd have thought. With a drink or two offered along the way, you can feel yourself start to loosen up. Hors d'oeuvres are littered throughout the party, and with Sharon being such the great hostess, you hardly feel the usual sense of guilt for indulging when it comes to fancy parties. It also doesn't help that they're really good and you hadn't eaten a lot, really, since Zemo's jet was scarce of in-date snacks. Eating expired foods wasn't really a risk you were willing to participate in today.

As the night goes on you find your way to the dance floor after a little persuasion from Sam. While you all might still be focused on your mission, the excuse of blending in is one of necessity. It's not really a party if there isn't dancing, right? The Avenger eventually decides to ditch you in favor of making small talk with some of the other partygoers. He's most likely trying to seek information, knowing him.

Dancing with Sam was different than dancing with Zemo. You hadn't anticipated for this to happen, but considering he's maintained a central viewpoint for the boys, that just so happens to be the dance floor. He's discarded his jacket at some point clearly as his chest is in full display in the plum sweater he's donning. It'd started off friendly, simply busting out your lamest dance moves for fun in the same vicinity. Yet, as the songs played on and you grew closer in distance to make conversation, the vibe between you shifted.

There's a reason they say not to mix drinks... and now you know why. It takes a matter of a half hour for your resolve to break, the inner dialogue, the constant fighting of the comical angel and demon on either shoulder bickering with one another. Overall, the devil had won- there was no use in denying what you want, that you have a plan, and are pursuing it. You're going after what you want. Using any chance to get closer, any excuse to feel his hands on you. the recent memory of his hot breath fanning across your neck, the spark when your lips met... it's still heavy on your mind and hot in your blood.

"You should know this one," you joke across the few feet between you as you sway to the music, the beat of the music ramping up, the bass and beats getting faster and faster toward that familiar climax you all know so well. 'There's not a soul out there-' bouncing to the rhythm, you let your hips sway as your arms find their way above your head.

'Give Me,

Give Me,

Give Me A Man After Midnight~'

It's a remix, the techno music is very different from the original, however, you can't deny you enjoy the song. It's fitting if nothing else. If anyone were to ask why you want this, you couldn't explain it--not rationally--and looks aren't a good enough reason, you know that better than anyone. While there are certain characteristics that could be said of his mannerisms and personality, you wouldn't dare to compliment or lead to the ego of a madman overextending its peace. Many would argue it already had, after all.

He doesn't seem to mind either. Whether you're simply keeping up the act, even if it's unnecessary here, you both find yourselves indulging in the ambiance around you. Breath heavy with the adrenaline of dancing and the higher temperature of lots of bodies on the dance floor, you're being bumped and jostled by the people around you. His hand extends at some point, loosely wrapping around your waist as the two of you draw nearer to one another. Over all, it's safe to say that Sharon may just have predicted your 'great night'.

As it draws closer to the wee hours of the morning, Sam makes his way around to advise you all of making it an early night. Tomorrow is supposed to be busy, so it makes sense. While the four of you head upstairs in a staggered manner, you find that once you're changed and sat on the bed that you still don't feel ready to officially end the night. Eyes drawn to the red dress and accompanying apparel you'd borrowed earlier, you can't help the thoughts that follow. However lewd they may be, it doesn't stop your mind from drawing up a vague plan.

Part of you knows it's a bad idea, that you shouldn't do this, but then again... what's the worse it could lead to? A one night stand? There's no reason that leads you to believe, rationally, that any of the same thoughts are going through his head at all. Therefore, you continue your trapse down the hallway. The wooden floors creak every so often, and you don't miss the way that Sam's clicking fingers on the keyboard come to a momentary halt before returning to its previous pace. It'd go unnoticed if you didn't know better, but you know he's well aware of your presence, just as you are of his.

You'd already thought this through--the excuse--the lie. It's a shame, really, to have to lie to a friend whom you love dearly... yet, you know there's no telling the truth in this circumstance. Yet, there is... isn't there? After all, you know it'd be taking a play from Zemo's book, you're sure, no doubt, but anyone who's smart knows that all lies hold some semblance of the truth. Hence, your excuse; smooth and comforting material weighing your hands down by your stomach, you're about to walk past the back of the couch when his soft voice stops you.

"You're going to visit him?" It's a reasonable question, a check-in. Something to note, since, he is a criminal... a dangerous person. Someone to be kept in check. Unpredictable, as they'd said.

"Just returning these," you answer, lifting the bundle of clothing and the accessories of your disguise for Sam's viewing.

"I'm sure he could care less, but, by all means-" Sam extends his hand in the direction of the hallway. "If he tries anything-"

"-call out, I got it. I'm only planning on dropping this off. Maybe asking him something if he's up for conversation. But it shouldn't be too long. Don't worry," you attempt to reassure him. "You should get some sleep soon, too, you know? Especially if we're to do this in the morning," you shift the topic, intent on reminding him of what you hope is tiredness showing, even if the bags under his eyes grow heavier with the hours.

With a nod in your direction, Sam lets his attention drift back to the computer screen, intent on whatever work it is he has waiting within the digital world. Though you'd like to say this relieves you, lifts a burden from your shoulder, it only makes the weight on them sink further into you. Whether it's dread, guilt, or shame at all of the incredulous scenarios that run through your mind in possible what-ifs of the conversation to play out between you and the Baron, you can't do anything but shake your head in an attempt to dissuade them. Bare feet padding across the wooden floor, you notice how the dim light that peeks from under the door gives your heart a reason to speed up. Really, its the realization that you've never truly been alone with this man since you've met. The rumors, perhaps, the danger they claim he holds... the possibility of a supposed madman snapping at any point is equal parts exhilarating and yet, still terrifying. At least when you let yourself truly contemplate this fact.

With a hesitancy at the door, you lift your small fist up to the carved oak, lingering... debating. While you'd thought all resolve had fled the moments after you'd downed your fifth shot... the buzz of alcohol has long since seemed to dwindle away from your mind, the accelerating carefree feeling emptied from your veins and replaced by the cautiousness of someone who Sam would tease is entirely, all you. Determined to defy the limits of the box your closest friends place you in for one reason or another, you gently knock on the door.

There's no response. Something you'd expect, if not for the way that there's a shuffle of fabric and then a sigh on the other side. "Come in." Cold golden ornate knob within your grasp, you turn it and push the heavy door open enough for you to slip inside before quietly closing it behind you.

"Hi." It's the first word that comes to mind, the only thing you can think to say, to break the silence between you as he takes in your bare goosebump-riddled legs and the satin robe you have on.

"Hello," he returns the sentiment, unmoving from his position, torso upright against the headboard as he lies in bed, legs outstretched before him. "What a surprise to see you, Schön. Though I should've guessed from the light footsteps and quiet knock. James would certainly not allow me a moment of privacy, nor Sam." Sitting up a little straighter, his hands clasp in his lap. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Swallowing your shyness, as you can't simply stare at him forever--that'd be far too embarrassing--you lift your arms a bit for emphasis. "I thought I would return these to you." There's a wooden chair with a striped pattern of cloth covering the cushiony seat standing by the vanity. That's where you place the pile of folded clothing and shoes. Although you're no longer facing him, you can feel his gaze lingering on your figure. When you turn around again, he has his head tilted, no doubt thinking about something.

"You can keep the clothes, Schön, I don't need them back. However, I'm sure you knew that. Why are you really here?" He questions.

"What if I really was just here to return the clothing?" You offer, mirroring him unconsciously with a little tilt of your own head.

"Then I'd say you're courteous, and ask how you liked the outfit I picked out for you," he retorts. Even from across the room, you can spot a flicker of something within his irises. Whether he's playing with you, toying with you, or testing you, you're unsure. This question, however, puts you on the spot. A bemused smile graces your lips and you don't try to hide it. Taking in his state of wealth, you decide not to comment on how expensive you thought everything was, as you'd rather not know. It's better to play on his level.

"I... thought it was very nice. Not something I'd normally wear, but for a nice evening out, I think it was a good pick. The shoes were cool, the gems on the back," you recount.

"The color suited you wonderfully. Brought out your features, just as I'd predicted," he comments with a somewhat smug look upon his face. Seemingly half-placated with the notion, though there's still something gnawing at the seams of his resolve. "There's another reason you're here, whether you're willing to admit it or not." This is a test, you're well aware.

"Mmm," the hum leaves your lips before you can even begin to think of a retort. Turning on your spot, you can't help but run your fingers along the carved wooden back of the chair, walking your fingers along it and taking a step further into the room as you think. "Am I?" You stop moving, offering a look in his direction. "What if I said that you intrigue me? That I wanted to ask you how you do it?" You posit.

Tongue sneaking out to wet his lips, the Baron listens intently. Though he silently chuckles to himself at you returning his question with another question, the second half of your thoughts elicit a narrowing of his eyes. This notion has caused pause for his own thought. "Do... what, Schatz?" He plays along, subconsciously leaning a little closer despite being across the room.

Though the various thoughts and moments from tonight race across your mind, there's one theme that you can't bear to continue reliving. One thought, one realization that you know will have you getting nowhere in the coming days. Jaw threatening to clench down on itself, you can't help but sigh as your hands ball up into fists by your sides. "I... tonight, I just noticed how... in every instance, no matter what seemed to be going on, you... didn't seem scared. Like nothing fazed you," it comes out a whisper. Those final words. Though you'd been trying to search for the right words, everything came out how it wanted to, yet in the end you couldn't help but whisper the truth. It seemed like nothing fazed him. Meanwhile you... were downright terrified. Scared in a way no one has made you feel. Ever. And the worst of it is that you know it's not over. Tomorrow you will get up, alongside the rest of your friends and acquaintances and get geared up and ready to face a man who's only haunted your past.

"Oh..." Zemo responds, your name falling off his lips as if you were simply a child, a silly girl that he feels pity for. Something shifted in his demeanor by the time you finally raise your eyes to meet him again, not sure when you had dropped your vision to the floor. Possibly too embarrassed to admit the truth.

It's this moment... that's when things changed, you think. Time settles in the space between you, the air thick and heavy with confusion and a cluster of effervescent emotions bubbling up and out of you both into the air, a swirling and confusing domination of raw emotion. There's no denying what's there; the truth, the matter of your age held right before you in time like a reflection of your souls. While you'd both endured a heaviness of trauma encumbered in your life time and time again, there's no denying that he's the older man, that he's experienced more... seen more, done more, lived more. And you... well, let's save the stereotype for literature digests, will you?

"Don't-" you warn, the rise of embarrassment hitting you like a brick wall as you begin to march toward the door with a speed that leaves him in a whirlwind. What surprises you both, however, is the way that as soon as your hand is reaching for the doorknob, his is roughly placed atop it. His hand effectively trapping yours underneath. You hadn't even heard him get up, yet you can feel the heat coming off his body only inches away.

"Come," he beckons, "listen." With gentle hands he peels yours away from the knob as he guides you over to the side of the bed, simply sitting. A pat of his free hand on the empty space beside him lets you know what he wants. Really, you'd want it too... if it weren't for the conflicting emotions in your stomach making you want to tear up.

He seems to pick up on your hesitance as he stands once more, hands tentatively moving to ghost over your shoulders, tacitly asking for your permission. When you don't push him away, he places them on you, hands encompassing your satin-covered shoulders. "You have to understand, Meine Süße," he starts, voice holding a softer tone than you've ever heard him use. "I joined my country's military as soon as I was eligible. From the time I was a recruit to the time I eventually became a Colonel..." Zemo sighs as he tears his gaze from you, the motion eliciting your gaze on him in turn. "The point is, I have been through more, seen more, than you and anyone will ever know. And despite my training, the truth still remains... disregarded by most."

Soft hand sliding down your shoulder to your wrist, his long fingers gently wrap around it as he guides you toward the bed. Sitting, you follow suit beside him, shoulder to shoulder as his arm winds its way around your shoulder. "As I see it, there is only reason to be afraid of death if one feels they have something left to live for. Would you agree?" While speaking you'd noticed his gaze, even if no longer stationed on you, become more far off and glazed over. As you silently ponder on his words, his eyes find your face, gauging you no doubt.

"Yeah, I suppose so... though are you saying you don't have anything left to live for?" You prod, eyes shifting between his as you attempt to read him, the two of you finally making eye contact once more.

"I did, once, yes. Though your friends would most likely also claim my recklessness only provides evidence for this theory," he answers. Zemo may not mention it explicitly, but you know that he's referring to his family. You'd heard the stories from Sam, the details from Bucky. That's why he tried to destroy the Avengers. Or did, considering the rift he'd created.

"Maybe... but you know that most people would argue that when you don't feel you have a reason to live anymore, that's an opportunity to find a new one, right?" You offer. Brushing your hair behind your ear, your vision drifts from his face toward the wall before you both. "And don't get me wrong. I understand. I do, really... I'd be lying if I said that I felt I had any sort of reason right now, but... I also think there's a certain cynicism in giving up hope. Maybe it's my naivety... my lack of experience in life comparingly... but I believe there's hope for everyone."

He hums in contemplation, "Perhaps." It's the only answer you receive, his eyes still lingering on your face for a moment before he, too, finds his own spot on the wall across from the bed. Neither of you move, still stuck in quiet consideration.

Held safe within his warm arms, there's a relaxation that finds you in the blue. You hadn't anticipated the night going this way, and yet... you wouldn't change it for anything. The answer was unexpected, but you can't deny that you'd gotten an answer. Heart thumping steadily in your chest, you finally take in a deep breath before leaning back just enough to peer up at him from underneath your thick lashes. "Thank you, Zemo," you whisper. There's no reason to be loud, not when the night is so quiet, so still, and there's only so much room between you.

"Helmut," he offers, a slight nod of his head downward in your direction, a squeeze of your hand in reassurance.

"Thank you, Helmut," you repeat, teasing slightly as you use the name he'd offered. An amused smile graces your lips and his grip on you loosens, glad to see you're no longer feeling beaten down. Unbeknownst to the both of you, while his grip has loosened, the distance between you is increasingly closing. In a matter of seconds, you can't help but jump off the ledge you'd been teetering off all night long- diving into the ocean that is Helmut.

Pressing your lips to his gently, the shocked gasp that resonates through his closed mouth easily turns into a hum as he returns the kiss, then draws out into a growl as his hand roughly finds your cheek, gripping it tightly with a desperate need. A whimper involuntarily leaves your throat as this happens, unsure what you've unearthed. Slowly forcing himself to pull away, his forehead rests against yours as you both breathe deeply, in need of the oxygen that streams into your lungs and filters through your blood. "Why?"

It's a question you hadn't anticipated receiving from him. An answer that you weren't prepared to give. Even if you both knew of the inklings and sparks that'd been building and dancing around you all night. "Because you were right," an airy laugh echoes in the space between you, "earlier. I did want something else, even if I wanted this, too." A smile stretches upon your lips, and the contagion spreads, Helmut mirroring it as an amused smile of his own tugs at the corners of his lips. The moment is short; a brushing of your noses against one another as you breathe in the same light-hearted air. Each of you tempting the other to be the first to lean in and capture a kiss from the other. Some unspoken instinctual game, perhaps.

Lips darting in for another peck, you're not surprised when his hand moves from cupping your cheek to rounding your head in search of a hold, a grasp of some sort. His hand winds into your hair, fingers gripping it tenderly. Pulling you in with his lips, he draws back, making you careen after him in search of his lips. Yet the instant he lies back, hands moving mindlessly down to your hips to help you straddle him and stay steady, the spark is interrupted. Helmut lies on the bed, a look crossing his face that leaves you knowing.

How can one read a stranger like they're a book they'd left open on a coffee table, passed by dozens of times? The heat where your clothed sex meet his undeniable erection. a spark sated in nips and kisses you'd been teasing each other with all night, yet there's something unsaid. "We don't have to," you voice it. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to." The hand that's not secured on his chest and holding you up runs down the front of his robe, the thick and cozy material running beneath your fingertips.

"I want to..." his voice trails off, "I just..."

"Don't want to offend her. I understand," you answer for him. Lips pursing into a thin line, the upward tilt of the inner corners of your eyebrows betray that semblance, showing your empathy. Even if to him it might appear as some sort of pity. "Though... if I may?" You inquire.

"You may," he encourages, curious to hear your thoughts. Warm splayed hands lie on your thinly robed hips keeping you steady and preventing you from grinding down on him and teasing further, even if you aren't presently doing so. A precaution, nonetheless.

"I know I didn't know her, and I've only heard a little, but... if there's anything I can say, I'd think she'd want you to be happy." The sentiment lingers in the air, and you offer him a saddened smile, quickly intent on clarifying. "And I'm not saying that to get you to sleep with me, I just... I think you should know. If anyone hasn't said it, I think any wife that truly loves her husband would eventually want him to find happiness again. However, it may be."

Silence settles in the air for a moment, and his lack of response elicits a spike of anxiety as you continue to voice your thoughts. "I know it probably doesn't mean anything coming from me, a stranger, but I still do believe in what I said," you chuckle, "and that includes people some may otherwise consider criminal, but... I believe there's hope for you. To find another reason."

"Verdammte Hölle," he curses. One of the hands on your hip squeezes for a moment. "I know," he acknowledges, "I just..."

"Haven't since?" You question, noticing the slight pinch of his brows. It's a guess, a posture in relation to the circumstance you both come from.

"Exactly," he affirms. Searching your eyes, you leave him no room for doubt as you lean down so you're chest to chest.

"Then we'll take it slow. If that's what you want," you reassure him, eyes searching his for some sort of clue into his thoughts.

"Yes, just bear with me, Schatz. It's been a while for me," He reveals, a hint of red tinging his cheeks. Whether it be from blush, embarrassment, or lust, you can only think of how handsome it makes him look in the golden light pouring from the bedside lamp.

"Me too, don't worry," you reassure. Hands resettling themselves on his chest, you both lean in, lips easily finding their way back to one another.

~~~~~~~~

translations:

Schatz = treasure, sweetheart, darling

Schön = lovely, beautiful, nice

Verdammte Hölle = fucking hell.

Meine Süße = my darling, sweet, dear, honey

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

tmt taglist: @wheres-mylove , @ashy-kit

[cas-backwards-tie]

The Missing Title Masterlist

Helmut Zemo x Reader | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Upon request of your best friend you join two familiar faces in Germany to pursue a sudden lead on the reemergence of super-soldiers. Out of your usual element, you run into bumps, twists, and situations you hadn't anticipated. After the leads die down, you're left on your own with the decision of a lifetime. Suddenly, life is changing, the only question left is: what will you do?

Chapters: Assembly Required | The Deal and A Meal | Fate Rewritten | The Morning After | Tumultuous Teachings | Odd Tidings | Temperature Rising | Fortunate News and Breakaways | ______ | Heartbeats Enclosed |

Warnings: Cursing, Illegal Activities, Criminals, Secrets, Insecurity, Sexism, Dubcon, Threats, (Descriptions of) Violence, Guns, Attempted Assassinations, Alcohol, Power Dynamics, Sexual Inferences, Age Gap, Traumatic Flashbacks, Gunfire, Raids, Death, Gory Descriptions, Violence, Existentialism, Guilt, Harsh Self-Judgment, Dark Humor, Sexual Content, Manipulation, Peer Pressure, Medical Talk, Angst, Yelling, Pregnancy,

Mentions of: Terrorists, Politics, Bombs, Assassinations, Government, Conspiracies, Betrayal, Treason, Hypocrisy, Grief, Talk of Morals and Life, Extremist Beliefs, Lying, Colonization, Death, Hospitalization, Mention of Cancer, Bodily Fluids, Unprotected Sex, talk of Abortions, Mention of Sexual Assault, Slut-Shaming (from reader's pov),

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Two: The Deal and A Meal

The Missing Title

Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: After rounding up the entourage and getting debriefed on the mission, Madripoor and a woman named Selby await. Despite not knowing much about the place, it seems someone has a plan and it’s made clear what part you’ll have to play.

Words: 7.5k

Warnings: Insecurity, Sexism, Dubcon, Threats, Violence, Cursing, Illegal Activities, Guns, Attempted Assassinations

A/N: I intended to originally go through all of the second episode within this chapter, but it turned out to be way too long, so I had to cut it short and split it up into two (possibly three knowing what I plan for the next chapter) parts. It'll be fun though, I know it! (aka the 'meal' part of the title might have been previously in reference to a certain someone.) and thank you again to @imamotherfuckingstar-lord for essentially beta’ing for me ❤️

After a stale biscuit offered by the elderly gentleman you've come to learn is named Oeznick, and a glass of water, you'd fallen asleep. The flight passed fairly quickly, and it wasn't until you were an hour outside the drop-off point that a warm and sturdy hand placed itself upon your shoulder. "wecken," an accented voice meets your ears as you stir from your peaceful nap.

"Rise an' shine," Sam's voice calls from off in the distance. Eyes blinking open you follow the calloused fingers up to its owner, surprised to find that it's the Baron who's woken you.

"When you're ready to change, I've placed your outfit in the lavatory," Zemo explains, hand lifting from your shoulder to gesture where the aircraft's restrooms are. Upon righting yourself, you find Sam running his hands down the lapels of his suit. With your half-awake state you're unable to bite back the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Hey, I didn't pick this, okay? If you wanna thank anyone, thank the maniac over here- better yet, thank Buck since he's the one who got us into this mess in the first place." Sam turns his argument on his counterpart, the mischievously playful twinkle in his eyes landing on the man still sitting in his seat from earlier. Leg crossed over the other, small notebook open in his lap, Bucky raises his gaze to your friend.

"Yeah, like you wouldn't be doing something just as-- if not even more--dangerous if it weren't for my idea," the soldier retorts.

"So I'm hearing that this maniac is actually perhaps saving you some grace?" Zemo chips in, a smug look upon his face.

"Ha, you wish," Sam's voice bites back as you shake your head in amusement, exiting the cabin.

The lavatory is far more immaculate than you'd anticipated, the sleek shedua door leading into a room bordered with, and a sink cabinet made from the same polished material. There are rolls of towels sitting on a shelf beside the sink. Eyes taking in your groggy features reflected in the back-lit mirror, you don't spot the outfit until your eyes see a pop of color. Dangling from a hanger placed on the hooks at the back of the door is a satin cherry red dress.

With gentle fingers, you run them along the soft fabric. It happens to be one of your favorites, even if you're sure many people enjoy the smooth touch of it. Though you may consider whether your undergarments will work with this outfit--let alone if it'll even fit you--there's no better answer than seeing for yourself. After all, Zemo had said that this was for you. There's no other wardrobe in here, so it's not like you can pretend otherwise. It only takes a second to double-check and make sure you'd locked the doors and there are no cameras or an unfortunate happenstance of a double-sided mirror. With everything in the clear, you quickly undress, partially excited by the thought of trying on such a sexy and luxurious dress.

As you tug it up in place, shoulders supporting the straps, you're careful with it, not wanting to mar or maim it in any way. After all, it's not every day you're handling such expensive things. Initially, you'd been concerned about your undergarments, and while your bra straps are showing, it seems that simply tucking them beneath the draped fabric lining your chest doesn't leave behind a visible trace of the economic brand you own. The only issue is what follows next. Upon zipping up the back as high as you can, you find that the dress is snug against your curves. While that's not a style you usually go for and leaves you feeling somewhat exposed, you don't mind the way it looks on you.

Vision set on the mirror again, you find yourself running your hands down your sides as you take it in. The red material definitely contrasts against your skin, making your features pop in a different way than the more plain clothes you'd previously been adorning. Doing a slow spin, you take it all in; that's when you notice the issue... your panty-line is visible. Not to mention, the dress has a pretty high slit that ends just below the middle of one thigh. This realization causes the faint smile that'd appeared on your lips to turn downward.

Nevertheless, you continue. After all, that's only one hangup; there's plenty more to be done. Luckily, you'd brought some makeup with you. At the time you hadn't been sure why, but now the last-minute item you'd thrown in your duffle has clearly come to use. Though there could be debate on what sort of makeup style would look best in not only your picked outfit, but for whatever part you're playing. Escort? Lover? Arm Candy? Prostitute? You decide for yourself. Going for a classic smokey eye, eyeliner, and red lipstick, you make sure you look every point the part you're to play.

It's then that the final pieces come into play. There'd been a black cardboard box lying on the counter. Inside, you'd found a pair of black high stiletto heels which had a diamond encrusted floral-looking pattern attached to the back. Lips parting in a silent "wow," you can't help but enjoy them. The shoes fit perfectly, to your surprise, and while everything is in place, you decide that you're finally ready to return to the men.

"Holy...." Sam draws out the syllables as his mouth hangs open. Bucky's eyebrows raise as his blue gaze rakes over your body, taking in all the details.

"du siehst-" Zemo shakes his head, "wunderschön aus," he comments. Gloved hands tugging on the lapels of his coat, he clears his throat before turning his gaze back upon the men. "Hopefully everything is to your liking." While he doesn't look at you, the comment was in your direction, that much you know. Bucky nods in agreement.

"Never seen you so dressed up before," Sam teases, a playful smile arcing across his lips.

Eyebrows raising in surprise and amusement, you lift a finger to beckon him over. Sam obeys. "Firstly, you've seen me at the annual galas many times- and-" you clear your throat and quietly lean toward him, clearly going to whisper something. Sam recognizes this and lets you have access to his ear. "There might be a slight problem." The hint of concern in your tone is what makes him lean back far enough to gauge your reaction.

"Oh no- what is it?" He asks, not bothering to lower his voice. This comment garners the attention of everyone in the cabin, all the men turning their gaze on you. With a swallow of the anxiety rising to your throat, you try not to crumble under their gaze. Bucky senses your nerves and looks back out the window. Zemo turns his gaze away just enough to let you two remain in his peripheral vision, but make you think otherwise.

A hand gently gripping the bicep of Sam's suit, you lean in again. "You..." you sigh, turning your face away for a moment to gather yourself, "can see my panties. Clearly. I-"

"Okay-" Sam interrupts, instantly retreating from your touch as he puts his hands up. "I don't really need to hear about that, but I'm sure it's fine! It's fine- no one will notice." With a speedy glance toward the problem, his lips purse into a line. The reaction is what causes the men to return their gazes upon you, clearly left out of the loop.

"I don't- I don't know what to do about it," you whisper-yell in Sam's direction. With another look away from the men, your hair concealing the embarrassed look on your face, you gather yourself again. A sigh escapes your lips. "I don't know if I should-"

"What's the issue?" Zemo asks, clearly piqued in interest. While his hands clasp together, you can't be sure if you've offended him by the slight raise of his brow, or if he's simply determined to resolve whatever it is that's bothering you. Lips parting once more, your eyes turn back toward Sam.

"Don't look at me," he reasserts, hands raising in a childish manner. It's as if he's pawning you off to some strange man. You suppose he is, though you know how close he and Bucky are. Is Bucky a better judge though? A better critic of this? "I... think you actually oughta ask Zemo. He'd probably know better- no offense," he turns the latter half on Bucky. Almost as if he'd been on the same trail of thought as you.

"How can I help?" Zemo questions again, taking a step toward you. He tilts his head slightly, clearly trying to deduce the problem as he gives you a once-over. Nose wrinkling up in embarrassment, you let another sigh escape you before letting your head fall for a moment. Clearly, you have to do this. It's fine, though... or at least that's what you keep reminding yourself over and over again in your mind. With a raise of your hand, you summon him over. He obliges, leaving a little space between you as your relationship isn't as close as yours and Sam's. Albeit you'd have thought the man who's more like a brother would be more willing to help and hear out an embarrassing problem than a stranger. Obviously not, it seems.

With a mindless quick lick of your lips, you step closer to the Baron. Closing the space, you place your hand on the bicep of his coat as you lean in to whisper. "I... might have an obvious panty line problem. I don't know if I should take them off, or... I don't know, I mean- there's the slit, and, what if I-"

The touch of his leather-gloved hand resting on your bare arm makes your words come to a stall. "You don't need to worry, Liebling. If you want to dance or are afraid of exposing yourself, you can have my coat. I would, however, suggest taking them off for the mission, at least. Unfortunately, it would raise questions and look out of place for..."

"For...?" You pressure, wanting to have asked him earlier what part it is, exactly, that you'll be playing.

"For a high-end escort," he answers. "If this makes you uncomfortable, you may see if James and Sam are willing to let you await us at the meeting spot." Removing his hand, he remains in the closeness you'd created, wanting to be available for further conversation. However, you're all well aware of the approaching landing.

A shake of your head reveals your answer. "No, I'll do it. I just wasn't sure if that was the best option, or..." your words trail off and you give him a shrug of your shoulders. He nods in understanding.

"Problem solved?" Sam asks from the seat he'd retreated to during your exchange with Zemo. While his eyes (and Bucky's) never left you two, he had no doubts that you'd be able to come to some sort of compromise. A huff of annoyance leaves your lips at Sam's attitude. You roll your eyes in his direction before turning on your heels and heading back to the lavatory.

The last thing you hear before getting out of earshot is Zemo questioning Sam on why he couldn't have an adult conversation with a woman he's so close to.

________

It looks as if it's just rained, and while it smells somewhat revolting there's nothing you can do besides follow the men. Lagging a few steps behind (considering your heels) you can't take your eyes off the magnificent lights. The architecture something to be admired along with the mountains in the distance surrounding the city. Boats sit anchored all along the bay, and you wonder if they're night-fishing, or perhaps partying since the boys had claimed Madripoor was something of a party city when you'd been briefed earlier this afternoon.

"We have to do something about this, I'm the only one who looks like a pimp," Sam complains. "At least you look, fashionable," he gauges your expression, rolling his eyes upon noticing your amusement.

"It's not that bad," you offer, hoping to make him feel better considering he needs the confidence for this plan to work.

"Only an American would think a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you're supposed to be playing," Zemo states. Your lips part in shock and awe. He's not wrong, however considering who he's responding to, his comment might be a little out of pocket. The generalization of Americans is something you try not to take personally.

Before you can comment on who truly looks like a pimp amongst your group, Zemo continues. "The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger." Tearing your gaze from the water once more, you find that Zemo not only has a phone but is handing it over to Sam.

"He even has a bad nickname," Your friend complains. Tilting the phone so you can see the image, a laugh bursts from your lips. "Hell, he does look like me, though."

"Can't deny that," you add on. If anyone's getting credit, it once again is Zemo. While Sam had criticized Bucky aggressively, you're starting to see why perhaps the Soldier went through with his plan. Continuing down the pavement, heels clacking against the hard material as your eyes roam the expanse of the bridge and city before you, the accompaniment of boots wetly stomping against the ground gives some sort of comfort. You're on your way, this will all be over before you know it.

"You smell this?" Zemo breaks the silence.

"Yeah, what is that? Acid?" Sam questions, indulging the conversation.

"Madripoor," Zemo answers. As a vehicle approaches, the ride Zemo had ordered not long before, he speaks again. "No matter what happens we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There's no margin for error."

If you weren't nervous before, you were now. Although your intrigue about he smells and Zemo's nonanswer have left your mind, you know that anxiety won't help anything. No matter what happens, you have to act believable. Do whatever it takes. There's a reason you joined this mission, and there's a reason Joaquin asked you to help out. The car pulls a U-Turn and stops just a few feet away.

"High Town's that way. Not a bad place if you wanna visit," Zemo says, "but Low Town's the other way."

Anger once again infiltrates your system. Not only is Zemo giving out nonanswers and advice, you've walked over halfway down the bridge to High Town for what? Only to go back the way you'd come? As your mind starts to run over the possible reasons, you've been left no time to think as Bucky opens the door to the back of the car.

"And let me guess, we don't have any friends in High Town," Sam states. From your peripheral you see Zemo shake his head. He, of course, takes the passenger's seat. Most important people up front, you assume. While Bucky waits for you to get in, you slide into the middle and buckle up. Once he's in next to you and shuts the door, you're half-minded to thank him, but remember your rules: stay in character. If you were really the Baron's plaything you'd know that the Winter Soldier was nothing but something akin to more of... a doll, of sorts.

As thunder rumbles in the sky, you're glad that you guys had gotten in the car long before it started raining again. After all, your hair and makeup need to be presentable for this to work. The mindless soothing gesture of running your hands along the soft satin material of the red dress the Baron had picked out grounds you. As the ride passes you're simply happy to take in all the new scenery around you, admiring the nice vehicle's interior along with the way your acquaintances are dressed.

You hear the sound of motors before you're able to see them. While you can't exactly see the side mirrors of the car, you know there's more than just one on each side. As Sam looks around, so do you. Something sinks in your chest; whether it's fear or dread, you can't tell, but considering you're unsure who's manning the motorcycles now surrounding your car, it seems warranted.

Perception is a funny thing; everyone has their own, yet they're all vastly different. Self-aware people are hard to come by. In fact, you'd seen reports that only twenty percent of people are self-aware, while the outlying eighty percent goes through life blind. At least, that's how you'd surmise the data. Why is it funny? Well, it's simple. Everyone takes in certain things, and while you've always been once to take in all the fine details, there's another phenomena that sometimes follows secondary. Dissociation.

While the process is usually brought up as a form of coping with trauma, it never truly goes away once it comes up. Coupled with anxiety, time seems to be slipping away like a blur. Soon enough you're following Zemo down a walkway, focused solely on staying close. Upon approaching a series of stairs, you're standing over an enclave of Low Town. The lights, stalls, vendors, people, and activities all at a good viewing point from here.

Unaware of the fact that you'd stopped until Smiling Tiger bumps into your shoulder, you're shaken out of your stupor. He wasn't the only one to notice, however, as the next thing you know Zemo's taken ahold of your hand and is escorting you down the steps.

"Stay with me," he instructs, determined dark eyes searching your face. At the bottom of the stairs he tugs you by your hand in the direction you suppose the location.

He doesn't seem unfazed, yet the task of mentally processing your surroundings and staying in character almost feels like too much. Maybe this is why you were better off behind the scenes on most projects. It's the sight of guns, within view, at access, in foreign and unfamiliar territory that's doing this, you're sure. Though the thought that Bucky and Sam are there is somewhat comforting.

Following Zemo under a blue and purple neon sign in the shape of a screaming monkey, you can't help but smile. It's uncalled for, surely, but with all the conflicting emotions going on within your gut, you aren't too focused on your reactions.

Zemo says something, and you're sure it's Russian, however it's only the last word you can makeout as something that sounds like "Soldier" that lets you know he isn't talking to you. Walking through the crowded bar, Zemo releases your hand, only to wrap his plush-coated arm around you, keeping you close.

Though you're aware of the eyes falling upon your group, you don't entertain them, nor the whispers you start to hear filter up into a murmuring. It seems as though Zemo has a plan as he marches right up to the bar with you.

"Hello, gentlemen, and lady. Wasn't expecting you, Smiling Tiger." The Bartender greets, putting down the glass he was cleaning.

"His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby," Zemo states. Eyes drifting up to his face, you offer him a coquette smile before turning it onto the Bartender in hopes of enticing him just slightly. After all, your mother always said that honey works better at trapping flies than vinegar.

"The usual?" The Bartender asks, suspicious eyes turning on Sam. Luckily, the man instantly plays along and nods. Taking in the blue lights that shine down from the truss they hang upon, your eyes scan the walls which you now only realize are made from something other than simply art. With inspection, you come to see they're the skulls of what you can only guess are monkeys. Which makes sense, considering the sign you'd seen outside. Zemo orders you both a round of shots, clearly focused on business.

Hand finding the Baron's gloved hand which still lies on your waist, you unravel yourself from his hold as you turn in his grip to lean against the bar to face him, hand still attached to his. With a moment to breathe, you join his hand with your other, both hands playing with the glove, one hand's fingers running along the length of his arm.

As Zemo turns back to look at you, he's distracted by the sight of what the Bartender is making. A split-second look of stun turns into a smirk as the man releases an amused "Ah." With curiosity, you'd followed the Baron's gaze, only to be equally, if not more stunned. "Smiling Tiger, your favorite." Noticing you, Zemo can't help but let out a laugh.

Met with a gutted snake, you can't help as your eyes widen and lips part. It only takes a second to follow suit as you turn to Smiling Tiger and offer a slightly amused and tight-lipped smile. "I just never get used to it," you comment, playing along.

As the Bartender slides over the shots Zemo had requested, the Baron picks them up, offering one to you. Faces turning to Sam, you both take stock of his reaction. One of you is seemingly challenging him, while the other is offering as much support as they can through their guise.

"I love these," Smiling Tiger states with confidence. Zemo raises his shot to your friend, you following suit before clinking glasses with your fake lover.

"Cheers, Conrad," Zemo announces. Downing the shots, you both return your gaze to him.

"Mmm," Smiling Tiger hums in anticipation, lifting the shot for a moment before he grimaces and hesitates. Just when you're about to encourage him, the man downs it in one go and doesn't make a face. Another faint hum of what you assume is truly disgust, but comes across as an unsettled stomach or perhaps going down the wrong way emanates from the man. With a thumbs up toward the Bartender, the man looks skeptical for a moment before turning and helping another customer.

Eyes still on Sam, it isn't until someone approaches your left, practically invading your personal space that you right yourself. Zemo's hand shoots past you to push you behind him as he squares off against the man. "I got word from on High. You ain't welcome here," the man states.

The Baron makes a noise of intrigue and thought before clicking his tongue against his teeth. "I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me..." a slap of his gloved hand against the bar brings everyone's attention to his gesture toward the Winter Soldier.

"New haircut?" The man asks, turning his attention on the Winter Soldier, who stares him dead in the eye, unflinching.

"Or bring Selby for a chat," Zemo threatens the man. Hands moving to rest on Zemo's back, you pretend to comfort him, offering your physical touch as some sort of grounding, or at least a reminder that you're there. He looks between the Winter Soldier and the Baron for a moment before leaving. Zemo shakes his head, to which you retract your hands, unsure if he's bothered, annoyed, or something else entirely.

"A power broker. Really?" Bucky asks, annoyance obvious in his voice.

"Every kingdom needs its king," Zemo explains, resting against the bar, himself, "Let's just pray we stay under his radar."

"Or hers," you challenge, joining him in leaning against the bar, even if you're really gauging the other side of the room and its crowd.

"Do you know him?" Smiling Tiger asks as he turns to be the lookout this time. "Or her?" He adds for your benefit, as you share a knowing look.

"Only by reputation," Zemo answers, turning to look at Smiling Tiger. "In Madripoor, he is judge, jury, and executioner." Clearly, the Baron seems to disagree with your theory. In earnest, it really is only a theory. People often underestimate others, and while there's a good chance only a man could survive the streets and business from what you've seen of Madripoor so far, you never know.

As you join suit and turn to look at your friend, it's only after Zemo calls for the Winter Soldier that you notice the person approaching from your left. As the Baron engages with Bucky, commanding him in Russian, you watch the man continue toward the former and extend a hand. Grimacing, you shake your head in a tacit form of advice. Of course, he didn't listen.

As soon as the man lands his hand on Zemo the Winter Soldier grabs it and backs him up a few feet. Eyes glued to the scene, you watch as Bucky easily throws the man to the ground and breaks his arm. People begin raising their phones to record the event as the man groans in pain on the floor. Another man runs at the Soldier to come to the groaning man's defense before throwing a punch. With a quick one-two combo, Bucky kicks him into another man who'd been coming to help.

It's somewhat shocking, watching the Winter Soldier throw someone onto a table. The table collapses and yet that's not where it's going to end, you can tell by the way Bucky continues stalking toward him. With a quick shift up to meet Zemo's face you're appalled to find him smiling. "You're not going to stop this?" You ask, momentarily forgetting your role. A doll of the Baron's would know what to expect... wouldn't they? Yet the thought hadn't crossed your mind. Hands reaching out toward the Baron's sleeve, there's a quick movement over Zemo's shoulder. Someone attempts to hit him, yet Zemo catches their arm and uses their momentum to push them toward the Winter Soldier.

Making quick work of the attacker, his body goes flying into a criss-cross metal beam before slumping onto the floor.

"Didn't take much for him to fall back into form," Zemo comments toward Smiling Tiger. His tone is almost amused, as if the thought was meant to provoke something from Sam. Taken aback by the quick spiraling of events, you jump as the Winter Soldier slams a man onto the bar and Zemo's hands simultaneously wrap around your waist. "Would you rather get what we came for, or be injured, even dead?" He whispers in your ear, nose nuzzling into your neck for a moment before he releases you, still keeping one hand on your waist.

The sound of guns cocking all around you makes your heart start racing as you force yourself to continue playing the part. Staring at Bucky's metal arm choking this man atop the bar, his hands attempt to scratch and claw for freedom to no use. You wouldn't be afraid of the danger, not if you were his lover. You'd probably get off on it, probably be used to it... something that to your character is entirely false. Stomach beginning to feel as though it's knotting up, you watch as Sam breaks character, hand shooting out to rest on Bucky's shoulder.

"Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us," Zemo murmurs through gritted teeth to Sam before commanding Bucky again in Russian. You think he's congratulating him, commanding the man's release? You aren't sure.

"Selby will see you now," The Bartender announces, eyes set upon your group as the man below Bucky's hand starts wheezing.

"Thank you," Zemo replies, nodding in the Bartender's direction.

In a matter of minutes, you've been led down corridor after corridor of sketchy, colorful doors and graffitied walls. With Zemo by your side, he keeps his hand snug on your hip as his arm snakes around your waist, keeping you close. Now that you're being led behind the scenes of the public fronts, you're able to see that things are much more dangerous than you'd been led to believe. Cages line the walls of one room, different pricey items inhabiting their safe spots. On tables there are guns, drugs, and more money than you've ever seen in one place at one time. Cameras line a row of desks, the security clearly high, and well needed if your parts are the type of crowd they normally get.

"You should know, Baron, people don't just come into my bar and make demands," a white-haired woman speaks from across the room. As the guard with some type of rifle stands aside, it's clear you've come to your stop.

"Not a demand, an offer," Zemo clarifies. As he sits across from her in an armchair, he drags you with him, placing you on his knee. This time you know the part you're playing, and with the physical closeness, you figure it doesn't quite look right. Backing yourself up onto his lap, you turn your upper body toward him, slinging an arm around his neck and bringing your head to rest against it so you can pretend to admire him.

"A lot has changed since you were here last. By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?" Selby, the only person you can assume is her, based on how she holds herself, asks. She's testing him, you know that.

From her question, you know now is the time you can play. "We don't talk about that," you bite. Eyeing the velvet, patterned suit she wears, you take in her leopard-print tie and snakeskin couch. In your opinion, it's all so tacky. A two-thousands sort of 'elitism' look. Outdated certainly.

Zemo's gloved hand pats your hip a few times, his brown eyes turning to you, brows furrowing just for a moment. "It's fine, Meine Süße," he responds, voice much quieter and gentler, "I have not seen Selby in a long time! The question is only reasonable," he announces, turning his attention back on her. With a shrug, he answers. "People like us always find a way, don't we? I'm sure you've already figured out what I'm here for."

"Now, who's this?" A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips before she points at Sam, not taking her eyes off you as she gives you a once-over. "You're taller than I'd heard, Smiling Tiger." With a playful motion of cat claws, Selby purrs in his direction before finally turning her attention back on the both of you. "What's the offer?"

"She's none of your concern. Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum," Zemo lifts you onto the arm of the chair before standing and rounding the chair to pat the Winter Soldier's arms. "And I give you him. Along with the code words to control him, of course." Running his gloved hands down Bucky's chin before jiggling it, you're stunned that the man hasn't broken once. "He will do anything you want," Zemo offers.

Selby begins to smile, and you think he's got her. "Now that's the Zemo I remember," she bemuses, to which, he grunts in acknowledgment, "I'm glad I decided not to kill you immediately-" she pauses, "-Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right."

The Baron listens, his face stoic as he walks your way. Plopping back into his seat, you let your hand snake its way up his shoulder and onto his collar as you play with the fluffy speckled fur.

"Now, you know I hate to ask things twice, but how do I know your little tramp won't go running around spreading things on the street?" Selby threatens. Eyes darting from Zemo to her, you can't help the way your eyebrows furrow and anger begins to simmer in your gut.

"Because she's not a tramp." Venom seeps from his voice. In an instant he's dragging you onto his lap again, gloved hand gripping your chin and turning your face to meet his. Without a moment to think he's pressing his lips to yours with a fervor you were entirely unexpecting. Gasping, you retract for a moment, eyes searching his for only a moment before you reconnect your lips. This is your part, this is what you have to do. You should've expected it, but here you are.

With the understanding that this is life or death, you know you have to make this convincing. As soon as he returns the kiss again, you revel in the way his plump and plush lips dance with your own. His hands slide from your waist downward, dangerously low, yet not quite touching your butt. You let yourself moan against his lips. While your dress is long, you're able to move enough to straddle him, even if it's tight. Noses brushing against one another as you both deepen the kiss, it's only once your lips part slightly, each of your breath fanning across the other's cheek in rapid pants that you find yourself grinding against him.

Upon realization you must've stopped, because it seems as though Zemo recognized your hesitation. Parting from the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours for a moment before lifting you again to rearrange you to sit across his lap this time. "I don't need to explain my relations to you, Selby, but I'll say this: if she's going anywhere, it's not without me." There's once again a determination in his eyes that you find yourself unable to tear away from. While you stare at the Baron, taking in every fine detail of his face, he doesn't meet your eye. Instead, his darkened eyes remain set on Selby.

"The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Doctor Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank-" Selby concedes, the mentioned named garnering your attention. "Or... condemn, depending on what side of this you're on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but...things didn't go as planned."

"Is Nagel still in Madripoor?" Zemo asks.

"Oh. the breadcrumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron," Selby taunts. Standing, she starts to cross over to the two of you, "And before you get all cute on me, don't think you can find him without me."

Suddenly there's a buzzing coming from Smiling Tiger's pocket. Everyone freezes. Eyes flitting to Sam, you don't dare break now.

"Answer it," Selby demands, "On speaker." The Winter Soldier crosses the room, now standing behind Selby, while she calls over one of her own guards. The biggest one.

"Hello?" Smiling Tiger greets.

"Hey, um, we need to talk about this situation. It's been drivin' me nuts," the voice of a female answers.

"What situation exactly are you talkin' about?" He responds.

"Are you high? You know what situation, it's the only situation me and you have," the voice retorts, getting agitated. Eyes on Smiling Tiger, you can still see out of your peripheral vision that Selby begins rounding the Winter Soldier, checking him out, you're sure.

"What situation, Sarah? Say it," Smiling Tiger demands. Sarah? That's... his sister. Shit.

"The damn boat. And watch your tone, okay? I let you slide at the bank," Sarah explains.

Selby begins to approach the armchair, the sound of something dragging across fabric makes you think she's grazing the chair to intimidate you all. Smiling Tiger scoffs. "The bank? Yeah. Laundered so much..." He chuckles as if he were doing his best 'villain impression' and not actually in a life-or-death situation. "Yeah, they'll come around."

"If that was the case, then why'd they dog you out, Big Time?" Sarah questions. This isn't good, this is poking holes in his character. You know this must sound suspicious to Selby. Eyes finally beginning to break, you turn your gaze toward Bucky for a second, his gaze unmoving, so you turn back to meet Zemo's gaze. His hand tightens on your waist.

"Yeah, you damn right I'm Big Time. You'll see when I have that banker killed," Smiling Tiger threatens.

"Cass! What'd I tell you about the Cheerios? I don't have time for this! Sam, I'm sorry- let me call you back." The beep of the call ending fills the room.

"'Sam'? Who's Sam?" Selby asks, eyes gauging you all. "Kill them!" The command comes quick, yet the bullet comes quicker. Glass breaks somewhere behind you and you're jumping in your skin. Sam goes for the man beside him, Zemo throws you off his lap. Bucky grabs the man to your left, knocking him out with his own gun before you're all running to the exit, or rather, the door you'd come in from.

"They're gonna pin this on us," Sam warns, back against the door as he's armed with one of the men's guns. Bucky stands lookout with the gun he'd picked up. Now you're panicking, wondering why the hell you didn't pick up a gun?! Heart thumping wildly in your chest, you run a hand through your hair, anxiety rampant.

Zemo sighs. "We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead," he directs. In an attempt to play nonchalant, you all exit the casino you'd entered and wind through the confusing corridors until you're back in the bar you'd come through originally. Walking out of the bar, you're doing your best to keep up in stride with the men as you're not as tall, and your strides certainly don't match theirs-- even in heels.

It's only once you're out on the street that you hear phones chiming left and right, everyone's eyes falling on your group. Motion from your right garners your attention and you stumble, a woman within a shop's window making a finger gun towards all of you and shooting you repeatedly. "This is not good," Zemo states. Almost at the crossroads just beyond the train tracks, the lights above you go out. Someone ahead of you starts unloading a clip, the banging of metal and clinking of empty casings ring throughout the air.

Everyone ducks, "Shit!" you hear Sam yell, while you'd made a noise that could only resemble someone being punched in the guts. A hand grabs yours and tugs at you. It's Zemo. Running after him, he guides you through the streets of Madripoor into an alleyway and around trash cans, litter, boxes, and through gates.

On the corner at a crossroads of which path to take, you spot quick movement from your peripheral vision on the left. Pushing Zemo into another alley, you hear a metallic boing echo, a telltale sign of ricocheted fire. Someone is clearly still following you both. His dark eyes widen in surprise, and though the moment feels drawn out as you both stare at one another, a nearby bang reignites his fervor. Tugged through the dirty, puddled streets of Madripoor. You're approaching another road when Zemo pushes you behind the wall of a deserted outdoor booth.

A gloved hand covers your mouth as the Baron crams himself between you, the wooden pallets of the vacant vendor stall, and the brick wall of the alleyway. There's a slight light flooding out from one of the apartments on the second story. In this, you see the wild look in his brown eyes. Ignoring the obvious closeness of your chests pressed against one another, and the rapid beating of your hearts thumping, you can't help but realize where your hands are. Having reached out in the heat of the moment for some sort of stabilization, your palms rest against the thick fur coat on either side of his hips.

Before you can question his intentions, the wet pounding of boots echoes down the alleyway. Whoever had been pursuing was running, only for their footsteps to stall. The constant pounding turns into an occasional splash as they step through puddle after puddle. Feet uncomfortable as Zemo's leg had wound up between yours, you slightly shift under his weight. He shakes his head, clearly worried about the person as their footsteps start to sound more and more distant. If either of you make a noise, they'll come back.

Luckily, they don't hear, it seems as the footsteps get more and more quiet, more distant. Though Zemo doesn't move. Another half a minute passes before he finally releases you, letting you exit the hiding spot first. "My apologies," he offers, clearly wanting to make his intentions clear. "I only meant to-"

"-Save us, I got it," you cut him off. "thanks." Not wanting to further discuss or acknowledge what'd just happened, you try to put it out of your mind. Ignore the flickers of desire that had bubbled up upon his proximity.

"Precisely," he adds. While it seems he wanted the last word, it doesn't go over your head how both of you seem to want to move on or change the topic. Refocusing on what's next, you realize finding Sam and Bucky might be hard given you're in unfamiliar territory.

Following Zemo through the streets, it doesn't take long for the nearby sound of Bucky and Sam bickering to alleviate your worries. Hot on their trail, you and Zemo give each other an amused look before running off in the direction of their sound.

"You seem to have a guardian angel," Zemo states, bewildered, as the both of you round a dumpster and meet up with the rest of your group. Relief fills you as you're more than grateful you'd found them and you're all still seemingly in one piece.

"Well this is too perfect," A feminine voice states from behind you. Upon turning you find that a gun's being held to your group, though more specifically, him. "Drop it, Zemo," she commands. The Baron puts his gun on the ground and you back up, watching as Bucky squints in her direction, while Sam raises his hands in surrender.

"Sharon?" Bucky questions. The name sounds familiar, though you can't place her face or name. The woman still approaches, gun aimed at Zemo.

"You cost me everything." Her tone is low... her eyes dangerous. She's clearly here for one purpose and one purpose only: she's going to kill him.

"Sharon, wait-" Sam begs, and you all find yourselves joining him in raising your hands in surrender. Placing himself between her and the gun, Sam defends him "-Someone recreated the super-soldier serum and Zemo had a lead," he explains.

"Well, that explains why you guys are here, and Selby's dead." Righting her head from having tilted it while assessing all of you, she continues to eye each one of you.

"So what are you doing here?" Bucky asks, daring to take a step forward. With the way there's still a pit in your stomach, it takes a moment to dawn on you. He's deescalating the situation; he's using a military tactic. Or perhaps a psychological tactic, you're unsure. Either way, he's doing something, which is better than you can say for yourself.

"I stole Steve's shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass-" she points the gun at Sam, then at Bucky, and finally Zemo. "-so that you could save his ass from his ass. Unlike you I didn't have the Avengers to back me up. So I'm off the grid in Madripoor," she explains. Doing mental calculations in your mind you try to place how a woman like this could have access to Steve's shield. That's when it hits you. Sharon Carter, the woman who'd been in a relationship with Steve for a while. You'd heard her mentioned once or twice by Sam and Joaquin, she held a high-ranking position in the CIA until... well, until the whole ordeal happened with the Avengers... with Zemo.

"Hey, don't blow smoke at me. I was on the run, too," Sam argues.

"Was. Is. Big difference. I don't speak to my family anymore. I can't. My own father doesn't know where I am," she clarifies, finally lowering her gun. With everything you've put together, it makes sense why she'd be angry at them. Hell, why she'd even want to kill Zemo, you get.

"Listen, Sharon we need your help," Bucky states, taking another step closer. Sharon chuckles, an incredulous look on her face you recognize all too well. They're asking for her help... again. After she says she's lost everything because of them. "Please," Bucky begs. Sharon sighs, and you finally feel your shoulders droop and relax a little. While you don't know her personally, you feel for her. With all that'd happened in the last few minutes it only comes to realization now how the guys had taken each moment of conversation during their attempts at deescalation to from a blockade in front of you and Zemo.

"This isn't over," Sharon warns, "I have a place in High Town. You should be safe there for awhile." With a nod of her head in the direction you'd come, Bucky follows her. You follow him, and looking back momentarily you spot Sam pushing Zemo.

~~~~~~~~

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[cas-backwards-tie]

wip motivation game

when someone sends you the corresponding emoji, share three sentences of that wip before writing three more.

@sillypsycho124 replied: 🍵

Thanks for replying and motivating me! ❤️ This comes from the next chapter I'm still writing for this series! Here's the latest chapter if you wanna check it out.

The Missing Title, Chapter Five: (title tbd) - helmut zemo x reader [eventual bucky barnes x reader]

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"Is he doing his standup comedian routine for you?" Sam questions as he strolls into the living room with purpose in his stride.

"Had plenty of time to practice in prison," Bucky grumbles in Sam's pursuit, loud enough for everyone to hear, yet quiet enough for it to be considered an intrusive thought.

As you look over toward them, you can't help but smile a little wider at their joke.

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