[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.]
[ the stern voice trips some half-buried wire in his mind, some abandoned bit of code that used to call him to heel. Bucky turns his head, jagged breaths soft yet strained as he tries to calm himself.
Maybe something in his eyes pleads with Zemo to be the voice of reason, to offer some glimmer of hope. ]
We were sent here. Others know that we are here and will notice that we do not return. We will not be forgotten.
[Not if this intel is as important as they were led to believe, at the very least. Or perhaps it is wishful thinking, but the look he is given... well, he knows what Bucky is after.
He at least attempts to push down his own deep sense of dread.]
[ what he doesn't say is that Steve and the Howlies knew he fell into that ravine. That they knew and didn't come back for him. Didn't come for him in the freezing Russian bunkers, either.
Bucky doesn't say he still feels the need to finish downloading data for the mission, that he's brittle and flailing and trying to stop falling back on old routines.
He sits, more slumping to the floor than strictly lowering himself with intent. A beat, before he presses the comms button on his earpiece. ]
John, please respond. [ the line crackles with static in his ear. ] Anyone on this frequency, respond.
[ Nothing. Just the hiss of snow and electric blizzard, mocking him. Bucky tilts his head back, knocking it against the rubble wall with a sigh. ]
[He doesn't quite have to, does he? Not with the amount of research that Zemo has put into his favorite pet subject. It doesn't need to be dug into. They need to keep their heads about them...
He draws his knees up to his chest after a moment, to brace against as he looks around their prison, brows furrowed.]
I dug my family from the rubble with my hands when Sokovia fell. By the time I found their bodies, huddled together, they were nearly worked to the bone. Even years later, I can still feel the scars if I look, and I remain surprised that no permanent damage was done.
[There's a sigh before he closes his eyes tight, only to snap them back open a moment later. Too many foul images playing through his mind.]
It is unfortunate that I am not on the other side this time.
[ Bucky's stomach knots up. ] I'm not strong enough to clear that debris. Unless there's another way out of this bunker, we're gonna have to hope someone decides to get us out.
[ and that they're worth saving. Some people might not see losing two killers as a bad thing.
Which Zemo already knows, but has tactfully avoided mentioning aloud. ]
I was in a cold, isolated box for a lot longer, Z. The worst thing I ever did was hope.
[ And he immediately regrets saying it as soon as the words leave his mouth, closing his eyes as he silently chastises himself. It's too raw, too honest.
Too unhelpful. ]
I don't mean that. [ he tries to self-correct. ] It's just...I don't do well with ah—what did Sam call 'em—triggers. With triggers. Things that remind me of HYDRA.
I never mentioned hope, James, only to direct your thoughts elsewhere.
[He arches a brow towards Bucky, fixing his gaze on the other man's.]
The last time I truly allowed myself to be hopeful was when I was digging my family out of debris... and it amounted to nothing in the end. No miracles happened.
[He shouldn't be so dour, but it's-- difficult to not think back on it, wonder if they felt anything similar to this.]
I would think not. HYDRA put so many nightmares in your head... But surely, there is one good memory to focus on. Tell me of one.
[ Bucky takes a steadying breath, trying—really trying to find something good to think about. He has a brain that's no longer pockmarked with blank spots, no longer simply a mish-mash of post-hypnotic suggestion and brutal training. But having access to all the good in addition to the bad makes the simple act of calling up a memory something of a gambling risk.
Still, he tries. ]
Okay... ah, one of the guys that welded my metal arm back on in Russia. I choked him out with that same arm. That was pretty good.
After. [ It's risky thinking about the overwhelming feeling of dread and body horror, but-- ] I woke up and once I realized what they'd done, I just kinda snapped.
'Least I took one of the bastards out. Wish I'd gotten to throttle the whole group before they sedated me.
[ But that's past and they're all dead by now. And Bucky? Well, he's pointedly trying to avoid thinking about how he took on a space-tyrant and ended up suffocating in a shitty bunker.
[He tilts his head back against the wall, closes his eyes for a second.]
How perfectly violent, James. Though I cannot say I don't understand it. I do. [He cracks open an eye to look at the other man.]
I'm not... thinking of anything at the moment. I'm not certain that would be a good idea at all. [He lets out a slow sigh and closes his eyes again.]
A bit cruel that I escaped the very fate my family met only to be faced with it years later, and with yet another man I'm rather certain now doesn't deserve it.
I didn't say it was a certainty, just that it is where my mind is going.
[He draws in another slow, steadying breath before letting it out again.]
Perhaps a joint memory, then. [While he tries to avoid thinking of his family and the way they looked at the end at all, or a tiny little cell.]
Riga, my flat. The night is perhaps a bit... blurry after a bit, but finishing off some more of my expensive scotch with you is a-- favorite memory of mine. Even with John's disapproval.
[ Bucky snorts. Yeah, he has some fuzzy memories of that. His favorite was the judgmental look on Great Value Cap's face when they were indulging while not on a mission. ]
Did we sleep together that night? I remember passing out on the bed, but everything's blank past that.
Yeah, you're right. I wasn't at the time. Or, I didn't think I was until it hit me you were leaving.
[ It doesn't make a lot of rational sense, but connections like this rarely do. There just seems to be something intangible between them, something undefined (or at least, unable to be defined traditionally. Bucky doesn't really want to psychoanalyze himself or why they're practically attached at the hip now. ]
[He breathes out a sigh and turns his head slowly to look at Bucky, thoughtful. Now is hardly the time to psychoanalyze anything, delve into reasons, or wonder how healthy any of this is.
Not as close as they are to-- a possible end.]
I had not felt that... normal in a very long time, as a matter of fact. The same applies to our current situation as well. Living with you... remembering what it is like to have company outside of my own and a cell.
It sounds so wrong like that but nothing about it is factually incorrect. Zemo does in fact sleep with Bucky, in his home-- hell, he even keeps clothing, food, and toiletries there!
Okay so they're living together. Or maybe Zemo is living with Bucky. It's all a bit much to analyze. So he opts not to. ]
Yeah, it kind of makes me feel like I didn't actually miss out, you know? I'm getting the chance to really live my life this time.
[He is fully aware that Bucky's home is not his, not in the sense that his Riga home is his. He wouldn't ever make a presumption like that... but it is nice, to be allowed to stay for now.
He wishes they were there now, actually.
Debating dinner, talking-- even making certain that Bucky catches up on modern cinema is enjoyable in its own way.
This-- not so much.]
Well, some would say that it is about time you did.
[ Zemo's not wrong: Bucky might have been born over a century ago, but counting all the actual non-freezer time he's been walking around, he's still thirty-something. Not far behind really (and only on a technicality). ]
I dunno, this feels like grief to me.
[ He kicks a piece of rubble to punctuate the comment. ]
[He lets out a sigh and rolls his shoulders, trying to ease out some of the tension.]
Although I suppose it isn't quite that. No scheduled meals, no guards looking for reasons to remind others who is in charge, none of the usual scheduled monotony. Just-- nothing beyond the knowledge we are trapped.
[He's not certain which is worse, to be honest.]
I was trained to withstand the worst tortures, to endure pain and starvation and any mental abuse that could be thrown my way. Still, I found myself questioning my own sanity at times in that cell. Even more so when so many lives were taken away and mine was not among them. It seemed rather cruel.
[He tilts his head back, though his eyes stray to Bucky.]
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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.
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Maybe something in his eyes pleads with Zemo to be the voice of reason, to offer some glimmer of hope. ]
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[Not if this intel is as important as they were led to believe, at the very least. Or perhaps it is wishful thinking, but the look he is given... well, he knows what Bucky is after.
He at least attempts to push down his own deep sense of dread.]
Sit with me.
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Bucky doesn't say he still feels the need to finish downloading data for the mission, that he's brittle and flailing and trying to stop falling back on old routines.
He sits, more slumping to the floor than strictly lowering himself with intent. A beat, before he presses the comms button on his earpiece. ]
John, please respond. [ the line crackles with static in his ear. ] Anyone on this frequency, respond.
[ Nothing. Just the hiss of snow and electric blizzard, mocking him. Bucky tilts his head back, knocking it against the rubble wall with a sigh. ]
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He draws his knees up to his chest after a moment, to brace against as he looks around their prison, brows furrowed.]
I dug my family from the rubble with my hands when Sokovia fell. By the time I found their bodies, huddled together, they were nearly worked to the bone. Even years later, I can still feel the scars if I look, and I remain surprised that no permanent damage was done.
[There's a sigh before he closes his eyes tight, only to snap them back open a moment later. Too many foul images playing through his mind.]
It is unfortunate that I am not on the other side this time.
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[ and that they're worth saving. Some people might not see losing two killers as a bad thing.
Which Zemo already knows, but has tactfully avoided mentioning aloud. ]
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[He's rather certain he is not worth saving to most, but-- perhaps Bucky is an exception. Hopefully he will be an exception.
He closes his eyes for a moment either way and draws in a slow breath.]
Try to turn your thoughts elsewhere, James. I found it useful, when being in a cell became too much at times.
[Not that it always helped, but there is only so much he can offer when he feels... helpless. Powerless. He never does well with those feelings.]
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[ And he immediately regrets saying it as soon as the words leave his mouth, closing his eyes as he silently chastises himself. It's too raw, too honest.
Too unhelpful. ]
I don't mean that. [ he tries to self-correct. ] It's just...I don't do well with ah—what did Sam call 'em—triggers. With triggers. Things that remind me of HYDRA.
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[He arches a brow towards Bucky, fixing his gaze on the other man's.]
The last time I truly allowed myself to be hopeful was when I was digging my family out of debris... and it amounted to nothing in the end. No miracles happened.
[He shouldn't be so dour, but it's-- difficult to not think back on it, wonder if they felt anything similar to this.]
I would think not. HYDRA put so many nightmares in your head... But surely, there is one good memory to focus on. Tell me of one.
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Still, he tries. ]
Okay... ah, one of the guys that welded my metal arm back on in Russia. I choked him out with that same arm. That was pretty good.
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I suppose that is a decent enough memory.
[But not quite what he had in mind.]
Was this after he finished working on it or later?
Laughing Zemo = ADORABLE
'Least I took one of the bastards out. Wish I'd gotten to throttle the whole group before they sedated me.
[ But that's past and they're all dead by now. And Bucky? Well, he's pointedly trying to avoid thinking about how he took on a space-tyrant and ended up suffocating in a shitty bunker.
He kicks some dust away from his boot. ]
What about you?
It doesn't happen often at all!!
How perfectly violent, James. Though I cannot say I don't understand it. I do. [He cracks open an eye to look at the other man.]
I'm not... thinking of anything at the moment. I'm not certain that would be a good idea at all. [He lets out a slow sigh and closes his eyes again.]
A bit cruel that I escaped the very fate my family met only to be faced with it years later, and with yet another man I'm rather certain now doesn't deserve it.
Should happen more tbh!
[ He tosses a stray piece of debris away ]
Besides, there's a chance we could get out. You said it yourself—people know we're down here.
It really should!
[He draws in another slow, steadying breath before letting it out again.]
Perhaps a joint memory, then. [While he tries to avoid thinking of his family and the way they looked at the end at all, or a tiny little cell.]
Riga, my flat. The night is perhaps a bit... blurry after a bit, but finishing off some more of my expensive scotch with you is a-- favorite memory of mine. Even with John's disapproval.
Daniel looks cute when he smiles ok /shallow
Did we sleep together that night? I remember passing out on the bed, but everything's blank past that.
He does!
No, but I would be lying if I said it had not crossed my mind. I did not think you were interested at the time, however.
[Hadn't he been proven wrong there?]
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Yeah, you're right. I wasn't at the time. Or, I didn't think I was until it hit me you were leaving.
[ It doesn't make a lot of rational sense, but connections like this rarely do. There just seems to be something intangible between them, something undefined (or at least, unable to be defined traditionally. Bucky doesn't really want to psychoanalyze himself or why they're practically attached at the hip now. ]
It was nice to feel normal for a few hours.
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[He breathes out a sigh and turns his head slowly to look at Bucky, thoughtful. Now is hardly the time to psychoanalyze anything, delve into reasons, or wonder how healthy any of this is.
Not as close as they are to-- a possible end.]
I had not felt that... normal in a very long time, as a matter of fact. The same applies to our current situation as well. Living with you... remembering what it is like to have company outside of my own and a cell.
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It sounds so wrong like that but nothing about it is factually incorrect. Zemo does in fact sleep with Bucky, in his home-- hell, he even keeps clothing, food, and toiletries there!
Okay so they're living together. Or maybe Zemo is living with Bucky. It's all a bit much to analyze. So he opts not to. ]
Yeah, it kind of makes me feel like I didn't actually miss out, you know? I'm getting the chance to really live my life this time.
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He wishes they were there now, actually.
Debating dinner, talking-- even making certain that Bucky catches up on modern cinema is enjoyable in its own way.
This-- not so much.]
Well, some would say that it is about time you did.
[And Zemo hopes he gets to continue it.]
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[ He mock-huffs, exaggerating a dramatic clutch of imaginary pearls. ]
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[There's a soft laugh.]
But you have been through an exceptional amount of grief in that time. A break is not a terrible thing.
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I dunno, this feels like grief to me.
[ He kicks a piece of rubble to punctuate the comment. ]
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[He lets out a sigh and rolls his shoulders, trying to ease out some of the tension.]
Although I suppose it isn't quite that. No scheduled meals, no guards looking for reasons to remind others who is in charge, none of the usual scheduled monotony. Just-- nothing beyond the knowledge we are trapped.
[He's not certain which is worse, to be honest.]
I was trained to withstand the worst tortures, to endure pain and starvation and any mental abuse that could be thrown my way. Still, I found myself questioning my own sanity at times in that cell. Even more so when so many lives were taken away and mine was not among them. It seemed rather cruel.
[He tilts his head back, though his eyes stray to Bucky.]
And so does this. Everything was going so well...
😭 H E L M Y 😭
He's fine!!! 🙃
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