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[For a very brief moment, Zemo almost thinks Bucky may manage it. Perhaps he will dig them from their cage, from their certain death. But that hope is fleeting. There's too much of it. It's too heavy.

There's a soft, humorless laugh that leaves his lips as he moves back until his back bumps against something solid. Then he's sliding down until he's sat on the dirty ground. He pushes a hand through his mussed hair, wonders idly how much oxygen they'll have over the murmured chorus from Bucky's lips. Will it be that, or will something else give way?

Maybe he's just trying to push back the flood of bad memories and dread and hopelessness threatening to slide in. Losing his composure won't help either of them.]

James. [He tries again, more firmly.] Look at me.