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.
If he wanted to poison Bucky, he wouldn't be so sly about it. He'd kill him in a far more forward fashion anyway. So for now, he makes the oats and uses a bit of the fruit to top it and flavor it.
He's glad to find at least a couple bowls for their breakfast and actual utensils. By the time Bucky is done dressing, Zemo has set the table and seems to have contented himself with the dog who seems to be hopeful she'll get a scrap or two.
Or maybe she's just enjoying the head scritches she's getting.
The temptation to crawl out the window and make a run for it is there, juvenile and not well thought out and shortsighted though it might be. He'd be leaving the old girl behind. He'd have to leave them all behind. And who's to say that Zemo won't simply leave and track him down again?
Bucky spends a long time hunched over the sink, brushing his teeth and half-assing a shave. If he climbs into the shower he might not climb back out again so he settles for wetting a towel and rubbing himself clean that way. Well, not as clean as a shower. But that can wait.
He emerges with a fresh shirt on and gym shorts, glancing at Zemo and the happily panting dog stepping left and right, relishing in the attention. He shows up out of the blue, makes Bucky upset, tries to win the dog over. And claims he's just looking for breakfast.
Sure.
Fine.
He pulls a chair out and sits and glares at Zemo for a while before touching his food, pulling the bowl in a little closer. Then he seems a bit more content with staring into his bowl and nudging the fruit around with his spoon.
"Don't feed her anything weird," Bucky warns. "She's old and decrepit. You'll make her throw up everywhere."
"I would never." He gives the dog another pat on the head before he gives a smile. "And what about you... are you too old and decrepit to eat something as simple as oats and fruit, James? It does seem you rather enjoy the plain rice more... hardly enough to sustain you though."
Pathetic, really, but he bites back that remark.
Instead, he decides to make a casual conversation in another way-- "What other sort of animals do you have here, James?"
"I haven't been to town in a while." As if he's actually left the confines of his property recently. He'll go when the feed runs out, or when he needs more dog food. In fact the animals are the only reason he doesn't starve through winter. He ends up getting some food for himself on his way back after he gets their needs sorted. Living alone has the added benefit of not getting guilted about his self-neglect.
"There's a cow and a chicken in the barn. Occasionally you'll find an egg." They're all rescues, so they're not meant to produce anything that could sustain one person, let alone two. Needless to say, Bucky will be Very Displeased if something happens to one or both of them. Even though it's a miracle they've lived this long given Bucky's periodical cycles of unintentional neglect.
"We used to joke about retiring on a farm," he offers after a pregnant pause even though he doesn't really much want to talk. Especially not about Steve. "I had goats, in Wakanda."
He doesn't have to ask who the other party is in this 'we'. Bucky doesn't have a terribly large social circle and somehow he doubts he's speaking about the current king of Wakanda. Although the mention of goats has him cracking the slightest smile. "How fitting. I hear they're stubborn."
And what is this shell of a man if not stubborn? To even still be here after all the horrors he's seen. Zemo is equal parts baffled and envious of his will to get up and do even as much as he does.
"They snap, but their bite doesn't hurt." Funnily enough, they don't respond well to prodding either. Zemo likely wouldn't like them.
"It was quiet. Peaceful." Took some getting used to, especially trying to do everything with one arm, but Bucky had loved it in the end. He never thought he would ever be that safe around children, but the whole community had embraced him. Would have lived out the rest of his days there if he could, if they let him stay. He suspects the elders wouldn't have minded, but it wasn't his path in the end. And he didn't want to bring them any trouble.
It was the kind of place where the nightmares had stopped, for a while. He misses that most of all. He's got the peace and quiet out here, some shambles of a routine. Having a few animals that depended on that routine didn't turn out too disastrously. The nightmares came back, though. And he didn't really have anyone to talk to frankly about them. Receiving counsel from an elder isn't the same as a therapist's 57 step program.
"Thinking of a holiday?" That'll be a bit awkward. Zemo's kind of persona non grata there.
There's an amused huff at the question. Wouldn't that be quite the holiday... "Curiosity."
Maybe he's just trying to suss out more of what Bucky has done in Zemo's absence. He shifts his weight a bit, looking Bucky over. "Did many know of your-- history there?"
If they did, it doesn't sound as if they judged him overly harshly.
"They knew enough." Shuri and T'Challa wouldn't have just airdropped Bucky into the village and not warned them that he's dangerous, mentally unstable. At least, he wouldn't believe that they didn't tell anyone that they need to be ready to put the crazy one-armed foreigner down if he starts spiralling.
"Didn't seal me into a mud hut and leave me to rot, if that's what you're worried about." Even if that's the kind of fate he deserves. They might be eyeing something less pleasant than that for Zemo though. They won't be happy to know that he's out and about. Especially the fact that he's here, after all that time they spent trying to help Bucky.
"Oh, I can certainly see that." He tilts his head thoughtfully, those words on the tip of his tongue. How would he react to those old words? Would there be a spark of the soldier in him, or are they useless? He doesn't try yet, of course. It seems in poor taste.
Besides, no doubt Bucky may physically throw him out if he tried. It's easier to play pleasant guest for now, he supposes.
"My father lived in the country, you know. In his old age. He enjoyed the solitude... the time spent with just himself in his garden."
That's... unexpected. Like being slapped with an olive branch when he was expecting more poking and needling. For a moment Bucky doesn't seem sure what to do with that information. And then he just returns to spooning his oats into his mouth with a small little scoff.
"I'm older than him," Bucky points out. He's not going to speak on behalf of all old people but living that relatively uncomplicated life in solitude has its appeal.
Maybe... it is a little lonely. But Bucky feels safer too, out here. Nobody's looking for him - or so he thought. He can't hurt anyone. Nobody would know if he died out here. Maybe just the Wakandans if they put something in his left arm, letting them know it's attached to a decomposing corpse and they can come pick it up at their convenience.
"You talk a lot for somebody who's spent time in solitude." Don't say Bucky never sugarcoats anything.
"I suppose you do have a point. You don't look it, of course, but I'm sure there are plenty of old fashioned notions that would be startling to hear out of a mouth that looks so young." But it's part of the interest. A relic from the past, brought to modern day, taken apart bit by bit.
And now left alone to his own very poor devices, it seems. A shame.
"Do I?" He arches a brow. "Maybe I've simply missed conversation, James. It's been a very long time."
Old fashioned. Yeah. That's a nice way of putting just how out of touch with reality he is. Both literally and metaphorically speaking. Out here though there's none of that. The strays don't care how he talks, what he thinks, any of those old values he still holds onto.
"Maybe you should get a dog." He's not necessarily mocking Zemo. Okay, well, maybe a little bit. He's a spiteful and bitter grumpy old man, and he's clearly given up on raising his walking stick and shaking it in the air telling Zemo to git off his lawn. What can he say? But he's only half-kidding about a dog. She's helped him a lot through more bad days than he cares to admit he ever has had even though she doesn't talk back.
"Is this what you want? Living in the country in your old age." Of course, Zemo could afford many more comforts and indulgent little luxuries. Assuming he even lives that long. It's not always a blessing. Bucky's continued existence is testament to that.
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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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He's glad to find at least a couple bowls for their breakfast and actual utensils. By the time Bucky is done dressing, Zemo has set the table and seems to have contented himself with the dog who seems to be hopeful she'll get a scrap or two.
Or maybe she's just enjoying the head scritches she's getting.
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Bucky spends a long time hunched over the sink, brushing his teeth and half-assing a shave. If he climbs into the shower he might not climb back out again so he settles for wetting a towel and rubbing himself clean that way. Well, not as clean as a shower. But that can wait.
He emerges with a fresh shirt on and gym shorts, glancing at Zemo and the happily panting dog stepping left and right, relishing in the attention. He shows up out of the blue, makes Bucky upset, tries to win the dog over. And claims he's just looking for breakfast.
Sure.
Fine.
He pulls a chair out and sits and glares at Zemo for a while before touching his food, pulling the bowl in a little closer. Then he seems a bit more content with staring into his bowl and nudging the fruit around with his spoon.
"Don't feed her anything weird," Bucky warns. "She's old and decrepit. You'll make her throw up everywhere."
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Pathetic, really, but he bites back that remark.
Instead, he decides to make a casual conversation in another way-- "What other sort of animals do you have here, James?"
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"There's a cow and a chicken in the barn. Occasionally you'll find an egg." They're all rescues, so they're not meant to produce anything that could sustain one person, let alone two. Needless to say, Bucky will be Very Displeased if something happens to one or both of them. Even though it's a miracle they've lived this long given Bucky's periodical cycles of unintentional neglect.
"We used to joke about retiring on a farm," he offers after a pregnant pause even though he doesn't really much want to talk. Especially not about Steve. "I had goats, in Wakanda."
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And what is this shell of a man if not stubborn? To even still be here after all the horrors he's seen. Zemo is equal parts baffled and envious of his will to get up and do even as much as he does.
Even if it could certainly be better.
"What was it like? Living in Wakanda."
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"It was quiet. Peaceful." Took some getting used to, especially trying to do everything with one arm, but Bucky had loved it in the end. He never thought he would ever be that safe around children, but the whole community had embraced him. Would have lived out the rest of his days there if he could, if they let him stay. He suspects the elders wouldn't have minded, but it wasn't his path in the end. And he didn't want to bring them any trouble.
It was the kind of place where the nightmares had stopped, for a while. He misses that most of all. He's got the peace and quiet out here, some shambles of a routine. Having a few animals that depended on that routine didn't turn out too disastrously. The nightmares came back, though. And he didn't really have anyone to talk to frankly about them. Receiving counsel from an elder isn't the same as a therapist's 57 step program.
"Thinking of a holiday?" That'll be a bit awkward. Zemo's kind of persona non grata there.
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Maybe he's just trying to suss out more of what Bucky has done in Zemo's absence. He shifts his weight a bit, looking Bucky over. "Did many know of your-- history there?"
If they did, it doesn't sound as if they judged him overly harshly.
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"Didn't seal me into a mud hut and leave me to rot, if that's what you're worried about." Even if that's the kind of fate he deserves. They might be eyeing something less pleasant than that for Zemo though. They won't be happy to know that he's out and about. Especially the fact that he's here, after all that time they spent trying to help Bucky.
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Besides, no doubt Bucky may physically throw him out if he tried. It's easier to play pleasant guest for now, he supposes.
"My father lived in the country, you know. In his old age. He enjoyed the solitude... the time spent with just himself in his garden."
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"I'm older than him," Bucky points out. He's not going to speak on behalf of all old people but living that relatively uncomplicated life in solitude has its appeal.
Maybe... it is a little lonely. But Bucky feels safer too, out here. Nobody's looking for him - or so he thought. He can't hurt anyone. Nobody would know if he died out here. Maybe just the Wakandans if they put something in his left arm, letting them know it's attached to a decomposing corpse and they can come pick it up at their convenience.
"You talk a lot for somebody who's spent time in solitude." Don't say Bucky never sugarcoats anything.
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And now left alone to his own very poor devices, it seems. A shame.
"Do I?" He arches a brow. "Maybe I've simply missed conversation, James. It's been a very long time."
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"Maybe you should get a dog." He's not necessarily mocking Zemo. Okay, well, maybe a little bit. He's a spiteful and bitter grumpy old man, and he's clearly given up on raising his walking stick and shaking it in the air telling Zemo to git off his lawn. What can he say? But he's only half-kidding about a dog. She's helped him a lot through more bad days than he cares to admit he ever has had even though she doesn't talk back.
"Is this what you want? Living in the country in your old age." Of course, Zemo could afford many more comforts and indulgent little luxuries. Assuming he even lives that long. It's not always a blessing. Bucky's continued existence is testament to that.
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