Themba can't talk, last he checked, and if she could, she would sound nothing like Helmut Zemo. Bucky is clearly not prepared to have any guests over, let alone this particular one, and it's really quite unfortunate that he's managed to wean himself off sleeping with a knife within reach. He could have really used it right now.
This idyllic life has done much for his recovery though, and he hates that two words can trigger such a landslide, knock him off balance and suck the air out of his lungs, leave him sitting on the floor shirtless and vulnerable the way Zemo can just walk into his home like he owns the goddamn place and-- fucking fuck.
Fuck.
"She's a puppy mill rescue, not a guard dog," Bucky points out carefully, eyes locking onto Zemo's pockets and trying to make out the silhouette of any weapons stashed in there, before rising slowly to level those amused little orbs with his deathly cold, hard stare. He keeps both hands on the floor, not moving, not while he tries to figure out his next move. He can hear the sweet old girl munching away happily in the kitchen which is about the only reason he hasn't moved to forcibly evict Zemo. Or snap him in half. He hates that he's even entertaining the thought of the latter. But he probably wouldn't hold back if Zemo had hurt her.
"You've come to the wrong place. There's nobody who goes by that name here. You can leave now." Clearly this deep-seated scowl is Bucky's happy face. How did Zemo even find him out here? Not even Steve's old friends could track him down. He'd ask, except he doesn't even want to hear it. He just wants Zemo gone so he can pack up and leave again. Maybe try and leave the country this time.
that won't stop him from trying 😤
This idyllic life has done much for his recovery though, and he hates that two words can trigger such a landslide, knock him off balance and suck the air out of his lungs, leave him sitting on the floor shirtless and vulnerable the way Zemo can just walk into his home like he owns the goddamn place and-- fucking fuck.
Fuck.
"She's a puppy mill rescue, not a guard dog," Bucky points out carefully, eyes locking onto Zemo's pockets and trying to make out the silhouette of any weapons stashed in there, before rising slowly to level those amused little orbs with his deathly cold, hard stare. He keeps both hands on the floor, not moving, not while he tries to figure out his next move. He can hear the sweet old girl munching away happily in the kitchen which is about the only reason he hasn't moved to forcibly evict Zemo. Or snap him in half. He hates that he's even entertaining the thought of the latter. But he probably wouldn't hold back if Zemo had hurt her.
"You've come to the wrong place. There's nobody who goes by that name here. You can leave now." Clearly this deep-seated scowl is Bucky's happy face. How did Zemo even find him out here? Not even Steve's old friends could track him down. He'd ask, except he doesn't even want to hear it. He just wants Zemo gone so he can pack up and leave again. Maybe try and leave the country this time.