The dog is smart enough to let herself out but if Bucky left the food out she would just eat it all, so. Kind of strange that she's figured out how to feed herself? Usually his nightmares are so vivid that it's not safe for him to sleep with even one arm draped over the old girl, but there's something about that distant voice and the clinking of pellets against the food bowl that has Bucky stirring with a sniff.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he gropes around the space in front of him. No dog trying to eat his hair even after he's cut most of it off or lick his face pestering him for breakfast.
"...Themba?" A raspy low voice calls out from the living room, echoing off the floor. The sound of dull metal thunking against the floor as Bucky rolls over and stretches his arm out, followed by a whistle comes through a little more clearly now that he's not just mumbling to the floor. "Come here, girl," he adds in Xhosa. She hears him of course, recognises her name and that command, but she's torn between inhaling breakfast and being a good girl.
When Zemo walks into the living room he will find Bucky almost-but-not-quite-awake, starting to push himself to a sitting position on the floor, wearing nothing but plain black boxer briefs with a thin flat sheet draped over his stomach and crotch. Nothing to see here but a weapon growing rusty in its sheath, determined to attain some semblance of a peaceful retired life. There's even a flannel shirt draped over the backrest of the lone chair in the living room, a flag to signify his commitment to going full country with his three animals and a whole lotta nothing.
"Hello, James," Zemo greets casually, as if it is perfectly natural for him to be in Bucky's home. Just dropping by for a cup of tea, really. Nothing to worry about, obviously. His hands slip into his coat pocket and he tilts his head, looking over the man with a lingering, pleasant smile on his lips.
"Themba... is that her name? Very nice dog, by the way." Although-- "You may want to work on her ability to guard you while you sleep."
It's... a bit sad, really. Bucky is sitting around this old, dusty house that needs work, with barely a stitch on, on the floor. Not how he was supposed to be spending his freedom, he would suspect.
"Although you shouldn't worry. I didn't come here to kill you... merely to see what's become of the infamous Winter Soldier."
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.
"Mm, of course. It's just James now, isn't it?" He doesn't seem to be entertaining any intention of leaving here, not just yet. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if Bucky never spoke his name unless forced to in town. He's never been one to talk. Zemo can't imagine that's changed.
"If you're thinking of ways to leave, don't bother. For a start, you'd have to leave your dog behind and I doubt many would be so kind to her..."
She's old and used up. The world likes to ignore things like that, doesn't it?
"For another, I'd just track you down again. I have means far beyond whatever the leftover Avengers have."
"You're the only person who calls me that." And yes, it annoys Bucky if the deadpan delivery is anything to go by. It is made even worse by the fact that Zemo knows it annoys him.
For a moment it sounds like Zemo is threatening the dog. Which Bucky doesn't always think of as his own; he cares about her deeply and fiercely, but they kind of just. Found each other and learned to live with each other. But it also sounds like he fed her. He doesn't know Zemo enough to be able to guess whether he'd really hurt her or if he'd leave her alone. He can only hope for the latter.
"Don't hurt her." Zemo's seen the shell of the former Winter Soldier now, a man who disowns his past but cannot disavow it completely; imprisoned and shackled by the weight of those sins, sitting on the floor held hostage by his own unwillingness to lash out and his protective instincts over all the stray animals he's taken in.
"I don't have anything to do with the Avengers. I don't have anything you would want."
"It's a nice name." He almost tacks on another James, but he's perhaps annoyed Bucky enough to start. The warning about the dog gets a roll of his eyes as he idly paces around the living space, looks around a bit.
"Why would I hurt her? I'm not a monster, James." She's harmless and honestly, it would just get a rather angry super soldier after him.
"You have yourself. I'm interested, James. At least in learning more about you." How does the new Bucky react to those old words?
"I don't know. Why do you do anything?" Bucky retorts, still bristled, still feeling cornered, watching Zemo's feet move across the uneven, creaky, seasoned floor. He wouldn't put it past Zemo to drag him out back and shoot him at this point. Maybe he'd even entertained the idea non-frivolously if he didn't feel like he has to be responsible for his unintentional little animal rescue shelter.
"Haven't you already learned everything about me?" Zemo likes to gloat about that, doesn't he? Read all the books, went through all the files. Could probably build a Soldier of his own from scratch using an ice tray and a salad fork. Probably would look more put together and be more effective than the old man sitting on the floor who's feeling like he maybe should have put a shirt on before going to sleep last night, had he known he was going to get an unwelcome guest.
"Typically, I have very good reasons. Harming a dog wouldn't get me what I want... just your gun in my face, yes?" And the same if he harmed Bucky. Maybe. Maybe Bucky would find it a welcome relief...
"But this is a new you, isn't it? I don't know how the new you responds to old words, or what your desires are. Books... are clinical, for the most part. There may be a stray comment about the human element here and there, but it isn't quite the same as seeing it with one's own eyes, I find."
"I'm not armed." He has guns on the property, yes. Zemo is standing closer to them right now. They're for hunting and coyotes though. He never wanted to use a gun on people anymore if he could help it.
The mention of those old words puts him on high alert, drives his stress levels up considerably. He feels like if he says or moves or does anything, it'd give away more than he's prepared to admit. But sitting there trying to keep his breathing controlled and at the same cadence throughout is just playing a long game that is working increasingly in Zemo's favour. His gaze darts uncertainly around the floor, as though his eyes are following an invisible cockroach dashing haphazardly around the living room.
"The new me justs want to stay here with my animals. I haven't caused any trouble." And he doesn't want to. And Zemo can see that with his own two eyes. This whole house is Bucky's state of mind, just about. The exterior might look alright but he's really run down ragged on the interior, in need of work but not able to muster up the energy or the resources to do all the necessary repairs. Holes in the walls, doors of cupboards and pantries that are so jam packed full of trauma that they can't stay closed. Not really willing to meet any therapist halfway to fix everything up, either. If the Winter Soldier is here, only the shadow of the torment he's inflicted on Bucky remains. He's this close to asking Zemo very nicely to leave, as unpleasant as that would be for him.
"Oh, of course not." Whether that means he won't ever cause trouble again... that remains to be seen. He's rather certain once the Avengers bring a new threat to the world, they'll call and Bucky will come running.
Well-- what's left of the Avengers, anyway.
He shifts his weight as he eyes a rather nasty hole in one of the walls rather distastefully. James really could-- try to put a bit more effort into the place he lives at the very least. Somehow, he doesn't think he cares to, that he's willing to make any such sacrifice.
"You see, James, I left prison under... less than legal means." He shrugs his shoulders.
"I need a place until I can arrange means to go somewhere even more private than this." Or at least goon a rampage to finish up whatever is left of his mission -- which may or may not include Bucky at the moment.
"So I propose... you let me stay here for a few nights and you will then be left alone on your... quaint little farm." Is he lying? A bit, possibly. Bucky doesn't have to know though.
No. No no no, this is a bad idea. He's been living in isolation for so long, so used to the silence. He can't handle someone as chatty or as manipulative or as eager to push his buttons as Zemo. Bucky frowns and lowers his gaze, unable to scrub the irritation from his face. He could have just stayed in a shitty motel or a fancy hotel or wherever he wants under one of his numerous fake identities instead of coming here to this dilapidated house and upsetting the grumpy old man living there.
But when Bucky was on the run he was on his own, constantly looking over his shoulder, trying to find odd jobs that paid in cash so he could live month to month in dodgy places no one would think to look. Zemo doesn't exactly share his problems, but. He doesn't really have anyone either.
Maybe he can put up with his shit. If it's just for a few days.
"...bedroom's behind you. Door on the left." This isn't a hotel, he can expect it'll be more of the same there. Bucky's kept the window ajar so it's not musty or mouldy, although there's just a metal bedframe there standing up on its side pushed against the wall with the window, and no mattress. He'll need to go out into town to buy that, and a few other things to make the place more habitable.
"I don't have a mattress, or pillows. Or much food."
"I'm surprised, James," he admits, tilting his head. "I thought you would send me back."
Isn't that what he deserves by most peoples' standards after all? A cell to rot in for eternity, or worse. He had thought that Bucky would agree with the sentiment after he manipulated him.
Although looking at the rest of the house-- it's so very... depressing. The fact that Bucky has been living like this would appall his therapist, he thinks, if he has one at all.
"I have money for both," he offers after a moment. "Honestly, do you sleep on the floor every night, James?"
He pulls his hands into his lap, still alert, still not really able to relax, but at least he's not so on edge anymore. It's 'just Zemo'. Famous last words, maybe.
"There's no reception out here." As if that's the main thing stopping him from calling this in. He just-- doesn't want to be found, either. Doesn't want to be bothered. Doesn't want any trouble, like he said. As soon as those people find out he's living here, they're going to want to stage an intervention, make him move somewhere with people, help integrate him into society even though he will always feel like he's a potential danger to everyone around him. If he lives here long enough, this place could be a cell to rot in for eternity, for someone like Zemo. Bucky of course doesn't seem to mind dying here. At least everyone else is safe from him.
"I don't use the bedroom." So that's a yes, even though he doesn't directly answer Zemo's question. His clothes are piled up in a messy heap in the living room, and the bathroom opposite from the bedroom is stocked, so at least there's some self-care happening, however minimal it might be. There's a big dog bed in the corner by the kitchen door where his favourite girl sleeps. It looks much more comfortable and welcoming than Bucky's corner, of just a sheet on the floorboards and sometimes a cushion.
"Just a few days. And then you'll go." And leave him and his floor alone.
"Ah, of course. reception has certainly stopped the Wakandans from reaching out before, I'm certain." Or others from reaching them. He won't push though. He'd rather not be returned to a cell so soon as this -- although this house feels a bit like one inside. It still leaves this lingering hollow feeling as he looks around, takes in the extent of neglect.
"Perhaps for your generosity, James, I could leave you some funds. At least repair the holes in the wall."
"Nobody's contacted or found me out here." Should he be telling Zemo that? Probably not. It's easy enough to guess that no one else has come, seeing as they might not let him live like this if they could see how he's living. But it goes both ways. Anything could happen to Zemo out here as well and nobody would know.
"The walls are fine," he states through gritted teeth, glaring holes through Zemo's skull. "I'm letting you stay and you're going to complain about this place not being a five star hotel?" How do you say 'ungrateful fuck' in Sokovian? Is Zemo expecting Bucky to get up and put a shirt on and make breakfast for him too?
"Are you disappointed?" Zemo ventures. "That they haven't found you, or is this truly what you wanted?"
To waste away in a decrepit house.
"I'm not complaining," Zemo answers, holding up his hands. Honestly, Zemo has probably stayed in worse places than this while in service. Sokovia had been torn apart many times by war, as well, before the Avengers put the final nail the coffin.
"I'm offering you help. Call it a peace offering, if you must."
"Why would I be? What's the point of moving out here if I wanted to be found?" He'd have just gone back to Wakanda if that's what he really wanted. And, yeah, sure. Some days that's all he wants. He just wants to be alone in his hut by the river, get gently headbutted by his goats, play with the kids and listen to stories told by the elders. But he can't just stay there forever. He's doing just fine here, with his own little ragtag crew of strays.
The best peace offering he could be given is for Zemo to get back in his car or helicopter or however the hell he got here, go back the way he came, and never come out this way again. He doesn't actually want help, stubborn and wanting to go at it alone the way he does.
And he could say as much. That he maybe could put up with helping Zemo, but he doesn't actually want the help. That much is already obvious though, so instead of brushing Zemo off, he just looks at the wall for a while and then lowers his gaze, resting his hands in his lap.
"I already have to deal with you. I don't want other people in my house. Touching my walls. Asking me why I live like this." A therapist might call this progress. It's not some witty, sarcastic, deliberately hurtful thing he said to protect himself with, to deflect from the real issue. He's not seeing a therapist though, clearly. And he hates giving Zemo an inch because he'll want to take a hundred miles.
"A fair point," he agrees after a moment. Someone living here certainly doesn't want to be found. He wonders-- why. He'd been given a chance to redo things, to start his life over again. Does he know what a danger he is? Or is he simply tired of trying to start again?
It isn't as if Zemo helped with that one. He should apologize most likely. One day, at least. Possibly.
"You can't patch a wall with your own hands, James? How disappointing." He shifts his weight a bit, lips curling up wryly.
"It's got character," Bucky comments dryly, as though that was a line someone trying to close a sale actually tried on him when he bought over the place. It was practically abandoned when he came in so there wasn't really much salesing or negotiating involved.
"You can run to town yourself. Get your own supplies." Maybe Bucky will be crazy enough to attempt packing up and leaving. It's been so long since he lived that life that he doesn't have a bag just ready to go, but it wouldn't take him five minutes to just shove a few things into a bag and throw the dog and chicken in the back and just take off, call someone later to come for the other rescue animals.
It's all very movieesque though, and unrealistic. If he really wants to go he has to leave everything behind. He-- can probably do that to himself. But he's too much of a worrier to just abandon all his animals. They're all old and the only places nearby that'll take them will either turn them to dinner or put them down.
Sounds and feels like a familiar fate.
Besides, Zemo seems insistent on making his life as miserable as possible. It'll likely only make things worse if he does something rash and stupid.
As if Zemo would be so foolish as to leave Bucky here alone, with every chance of escape. He's rather-- interested, honestly. If Bucky wants to live like a homeless dog... worse off than his little friend that came to greet him, then he possibly needs someone willing to at least leave a bit of food out for him once in a while.
"I don't need anything at the moment, but I think I should park my car elsewhere." It wouldn't do -- something suspiciously expensive parked outside of what looks like an abandoned hovel. It may draw attention they definitely don't want.
Bucky pushes himself up to his feet slowly. The old girl hears him get up and comes padding over from the kitchen, nudging at his flesh hand. He can't even be angry at her, rubbing her head gently. Some more human company might be good for her, even if Zemo's company is always. Questionable.
"I can make space in the barn. Cover it up with some tarp," Bucky offers. He would have rescinded that offer with all that shade Zemo was throwing on him and his place but Zemo has wisely chosen not to speak any of those things out loud. It does mean that his little rescue farm will have slightly less space but it's a big enough barn that it shouldn't bother them too much.
Of course, the place is so run down that it doesn't look like it can survive a strong gust of wind. But the barn, like everything else here, has seen some shit and is sturdier than she looks.
"Unless it's not good enough for you." Bucky can't keep the scowling juvenile sarcasm out of his voice.
He hides a roll of his eyes at that petulant response. Really. See if he tries to spread any generosity. "I'm certain it will suffice."
There's a brief, stiff smile as he moves to the kitchen for now, peering through cabinets to see what sort of food, if any, that Bucky has squirreled away.
"... You seem fond of animals," he starts casually.
There's only boring staples on those shelves. He needn't bother looking for anything nice. The bottom shelves are reserved for dog food. The food fit for human consumption includes half a bag of rolled oats, the last stash of rice, some herbs that look like dried lawn trimmings, scattered small boxes of dried goods like different coloured beans, and several emergency cans he hasn't touched. Tomatoes, tuna, little bit of fruit. But if Zemo accused Bucky of eating only plain rice the last two weeks he wouldn't have denied it. If he's expecting something better than prison food he's only setting himself up for disappointment.
"No one else would take them in." He thinks he isn't good with them. Needs a gentler touch. More research. But most experts are farmers, and rescues or whatever old age/palliative operation he's found himself running are fewer and further between.
He couldn't have done it when he was younger, if he'd come back from the war. He would have wanted his old city life, with all its conveniences, surrounded by people. Now he's finding he doesn't like people very much. Especially not this one nosying around in his kitchen.
"What're you looking for?" he tries to change the subject.
I hate when that happens! You swear you answered, but nope!
"Something to eat," he answers, just a bit of a pout on his lips. There really-- isn't much, is there? Even his cabinets were likely more stocked in Latvia. But he's made it on less in his life, in far more dire circumstances than having a roof over his head. So he'll just go about collecting the oats and poking around for pans to begin it in.
"You haven't eaten yet, have you?" It's not really a question. "I will handle breakfast, but the least you can do is come and join me."
It won't be anything terribly fancy -- just the oats with some milk if Bucky has it, water if he doesn't. He can top it with the bit of fruit he spotted in the pantry. It will certainly be a bit different from plain rice at least.
At least I turned on my phone screen and there it was 😆
"I told you, I didn't have much food." He also just woke up, so. Kind of a shitty animal caretaker. Most responsible folk would have been up by now, fed their four-legged friends, accomplished more than breakfast. Bucky is on his feet, so. Expecting anything more than that might be asking too much.
The offer of breakfast is met with a suspicious, wary look. But Bucky eventually relents and nods.
"Fine. I'll go get cleaned up." He could probably shave a bit. Put a shirt on. Make himself look marginally more presentable. Although other than a couple of formalwear pieces he's not sure he has anything that doesn't have a hole in them.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Nobody told him you can't do it the slow way around 😒
Squeezing his eyes shut, he gropes around the space in front of him. No dog trying to eat his hair even after he's cut most of it off or lick his face pestering him for breakfast.
"...Themba?" A raspy low voice calls out from the living room, echoing off the floor. The sound of dull metal thunking against the floor as Bucky rolls over and stretches his arm out, followed by a whistle comes through a little more clearly now that he's not just mumbling to the floor. "Come here, girl," he adds in Xhosa. She hears him of course, recognises her name and that command, but she's torn between inhaling breakfast and being a good girl.
When Zemo walks into the living room he will find Bucky almost-but-not-quite-awake, starting to push himself to a sitting position on the floor, wearing nothing but plain black boxer briefs with a thin flat sheet draped over his stomach and crotch. Nothing to see here but a weapon growing rusty in its sheath, determined to attain some semblance of a peaceful retired life. There's even a flannel shirt draped over the backrest of the lone chair in the living room, a flag to signify his commitment to going full country with his three animals and a whole lotta nothing.
Zemo will break the news to him 😤
"Themba... is that her name? Very nice dog, by the way." Although-- "You may want to work on her ability to guard you while you sleep."
It's... a bit sad, really. Bucky is sitting around this old, dusty house that needs work, with barely a stitch on, on the floor. Not how he was supposed to be spending his freedom, he would suspect.
"Although you shouldn't worry. I didn't come here to kill you... merely to see what's become of the infamous Winter Soldier."
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.
He'll just get the blowdryer to thaw him out 🙄
"If you're thinking of ways to leave, don't bother. For a start, you'd have to leave your dog behind and I doubt many would be so kind to her..."
She's old and used up. The world likes to ignore things like that, doesn't it?
"For another, I'd just track you down again. I have means far beyond whatever the leftover Avengers have."
um... does that work that way? 🤔
For a moment it sounds like Zemo is threatening the dog. Which Bucky doesn't always think of as his own; he cares about her deeply and fiercely, but they kind of just. Found each other and learned to live with each other. But it also sounds like he fed her. He doesn't know Zemo enough to be able to guess whether he'd really hurt her or if he'd leave her alone. He can only hope for the latter.
"Don't hurt her." Zemo's seen the shell of the former Winter Soldier now, a man who disowns his past but cannot disavow it completely; imprisoned and shackled by the weight of those sins, sitting on the floor held hostage by his own unwillingness to lash out and his protective instincts over all the stray animals he's taken in.
"I don't have anything to do with the Avengers. I don't have anything you would want."
It's worth a try! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
"Why would I hurt her? I'm not a monster, James." She's harmless and honestly, it would just get a rather angry super soldier after him.
"You have yourself. I'm interested, James. At least in learning more about you." How does the new Bucky react to those old words?
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"Haven't you already learned everything about me?" Zemo likes to gloat about that, doesn't he? Read all the books, went through all the files. Could probably build a Soldier of his own from scratch using an ice tray and a salad fork. Probably would look more put together and be more effective than the old man sitting on the floor who's feeling like he maybe should have put a shirt on before going to sleep last night, had he known he was going to get an unwelcome guest.
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"But this is a new you, isn't it? I don't know how the new you responds to old words, or what your desires are. Books... are clinical, for the most part. There may be a stray comment about the human element here and there, but it isn't quite the same as seeing it with one's own eyes, I find."
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The mention of those old words puts him on high alert, drives his stress levels up considerably. He feels like if he says or moves or does anything, it'd give away more than he's prepared to admit. But sitting there trying to keep his breathing controlled and at the same cadence throughout is just playing a long game that is working increasingly in Zemo's favour. His gaze darts uncertainly around the floor, as though his eyes are following an invisible cockroach dashing haphazardly around the living room.
"The new me justs want to stay here with my animals. I haven't caused any trouble." And he doesn't want to. And Zemo can see that with his own two eyes. This whole house is Bucky's state of mind, just about. The exterior might look
alright but he's really run down ragged on the interior, in need of work but not able to muster up the energy or the resources to do all the necessary repairs. Holes in the walls, doors of cupboards and pantries that are so jam packed full of trauma that they can't stay closed. Not really willing to meet any therapist halfway to fix everything up, either. If the Winter Soldier is here, only the shadow of the torment he's inflicted on Bucky remains. He's this close to asking Zemo very nicely to leave, as unpleasant as that would be for him.
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Well-- what's left of the Avengers, anyway.
He shifts his weight as he eyes a rather nasty hole in one of the walls rather distastefully. James really could-- try to put a bit more effort into the place he lives at the very least. Somehow, he doesn't think he cares to, that he's willing to make any such sacrifice.
"You see, James, I left prison under... less than legal means." He shrugs his shoulders.
"I need a place until I can arrange means to go somewhere even more private than this." Or at least goon a rampage to finish up whatever is left of his mission -- which may or may not include Bucky at the moment.
"So I propose... you let me stay here for a few nights and you will then be left alone on your... quaint little farm." Is he lying? A bit, possibly. Bucky doesn't have to know though.
no subject
But when Bucky was on the run he was on his own, constantly looking over his shoulder, trying to find odd jobs that paid in cash so he could live month to month in dodgy places no one would think to look. Zemo doesn't exactly share his problems, but. He doesn't really have anyone either.
Maybe he can put up with his shit. If it's just for a few days.
"...bedroom's behind you. Door on the left." This isn't a hotel, he can expect it'll be more of the same there. Bucky's kept the window ajar so it's not musty or mouldy, although there's just a metal bedframe there standing up on its side pushed against the wall with the window, and no mattress. He'll need to go out into town to buy that, and a few other things to make the place more habitable.
"I don't have a mattress, or pillows. Or much food."
no subject
Isn't that what he deserves by most peoples' standards after all? A cell to rot in for eternity, or worse. He had thought that Bucky would agree with the sentiment after he manipulated him.
Although looking at the rest of the house-- it's so very... depressing. The fact that Bucky has been living like this would appall his therapist, he thinks, if he has one at all.
"I have money for both," he offers after a moment. "Honestly, do you sleep on the floor every night, James?"
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"There's no reception out here." As if that's the main thing stopping him from calling this in. He just-- doesn't want to be found, either. Doesn't want to be bothered. Doesn't want any trouble, like he said. As soon as those people find out he's living here, they're going to want to stage an intervention, make him move somewhere with people, help integrate him into society even though he will always feel like he's a potential danger to everyone around him. If he lives here long enough, this place could be a cell to rot in for eternity, for someone like Zemo. Bucky of course doesn't seem to mind dying here. At least everyone else is safe from him.
"I don't use the bedroom." So that's a yes, even though he doesn't directly answer Zemo's question. His clothes are piled up in a messy heap in the living room, and the bathroom opposite from the bedroom is stocked, so at least there's some self-care happening, however minimal it might be. There's a big dog bed in the corner by the kitchen door where his favourite girl sleeps. It looks much more comfortable and welcoming than Bucky's corner, of just a sheet on the floorboards and sometimes a cushion.
"Just a few days. And then you'll go." And leave him and his floor alone.
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"Perhaps for your generosity, James, I could leave you some funds. At least repair the holes in the wall."
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"The walls are fine," he states through gritted teeth, glaring holes through Zemo's skull. "I'm letting you stay and you're going to complain about this place not being a five star hotel?" How do you say 'ungrateful fuck' in Sokovian? Is Zemo expecting Bucky to get up and put a shirt on and make breakfast for him too?
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To waste away in a decrepit house.
"I'm not complaining," Zemo answers, holding up his hands. Honestly, Zemo has probably stayed in worse places than this while in service. Sokovia had been torn apart many times by war, as well, before the Avengers put the final nail the coffin.
"I'm offering you help. Call it a peace offering, if you must."
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The best peace offering he could be given is for Zemo to get back in his car or helicopter or however the hell he got here, go back the way he came, and never come out this way again. He doesn't actually want help, stubborn and wanting to go at it alone the way he does.
And he could say as much. That he maybe could put up with helping Zemo, but he doesn't actually want the help. That much is already obvious though, so instead of brushing Zemo off, he just looks at the wall for a while and then lowers his gaze, resting his hands in his lap.
"I already have to deal with you. I don't want other people in my house. Touching my walls. Asking me why I live like this." A therapist might call this progress. It's not some witty, sarcastic, deliberately hurtful thing he said to protect himself with, to deflect from the real issue. He's not seeing a therapist though, clearly. And he hates giving Zemo an inch because he'll want to take a hundred miles.
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It isn't as if Zemo helped with that one. He should apologize most likely. One day, at least. Possibly.
"You can't patch a wall with your own hands, James? How disappointing." He shifts his weight a bit, lips curling up wryly.
"Have it your way, then."
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"You can run to town yourself. Get your own supplies." Maybe Bucky will be crazy enough to attempt packing up and leaving. It's been so long since he lived that life that he doesn't have a bag just ready to go, but it wouldn't take him five minutes to just shove a few things into a bag and throw the dog and chicken in the back and just take off, call someone later to come for the other rescue animals.
It's all very movieesque though, and unrealistic. If he really wants to go he has to leave everything behind. He-- can probably do that to himself. But he's too much of a worrier to just abandon all his animals. They're all old and the only places nearby that'll take them will either turn them to dinner or put them down.
Sounds and feels like a familiar fate.
Besides, Zemo seems insistent on making his life as miserable as possible. It'll likely only make things worse if he does something rash and stupid.
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"I don't need anything at the moment, but I think I should park my car elsewhere." It wouldn't do -- something suspiciously expensive parked outside of what looks like an abandoned hovel. It may draw attention they definitely don't want.
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"I can make space in the barn. Cover it up with some tarp," Bucky offers. He would have rescinded that offer with all that shade Zemo was throwing on him and his place but Zemo has wisely chosen not to speak any of those things out loud. It does mean that his little rescue farm will have slightly less space but it's a big enough barn that it shouldn't bother them too much.
Of course, the place is so run down that it doesn't look like it can survive a strong gust of wind. But the barn, like everything else here, has seen some shit and is sturdier than she looks.
"Unless it's not good enough for you." Bucky can't keep the scowling juvenile sarcasm out of his voice.
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There's a brief, stiff smile as he moves to the kitchen for now, peering through cabinets to see what sort of food, if any, that Bucky has squirreled away.
"... You seem fond of animals," he starts casually.
I wrote half this tag then fell asleep 😆
"No one else would take them in." He thinks he isn't good with them. Needs a gentler touch. More research. But most experts are farmers, and rescues or whatever old age/palliative operation he's found himself running are fewer and further between.
He couldn't have done it when he was younger, if he'd come back from the war. He would have wanted his old city life, with all its conveniences, surrounded by people. Now he's finding he doesn't like people very much. Especially not this one nosying around in his kitchen.
"What're you looking for?" he tries to change the subject.
I hate when that happens! You swear you answered, but nope!
"You haven't eaten yet, have you?" It's not really a question. "I will handle breakfast, but the least you can do is come and join me."
It won't be anything terribly fancy -- just the oats with some milk if Bucky has it, water if he doesn't. He can top it with the bit of fruit he spotted in the pantry. It will certainly be a bit different from plain rice at least.
At least I turned on my phone screen and there it was 😆
The offer of breakfast is met with a suspicious, wary look. But Bucky eventually relents and nods.
"Fine. I'll go get cleaned up." He could probably shave a bit. Put a shirt on. Make himself look marginally more presentable. Although other than a couple of formalwear pieces he's not sure he has anything that doesn't have a hole in them.
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