thread;; one night in high town; podchinyatsya

[helmut]

[ madripoor is just as zemo remembers it: in sight and smell, in the feeling too, the charged, frenetic energy that floods the neon-lit streets, suspended like ocean between high rises, street markets, and lofts with open floor plans. it demands one's energy and one's mind, sucks in those with ambition either to build them up or spit them out.

that's what happens in a town like this. madripoor's pirates' roots are still exposed, a modern day port royal in a silicon age of piracy. it stands as some kind of relic, in defiance of god and the rule of law, where respect goes only as far as clout and money can buy.

thankfully, zemo is in a position to purchase what he needs in either currency. outfitting his companions is as enjoyable as it is useful, zemo taking his time on the hours-long flight to select each piece himself - from the smiling tiger's beaded necklace to the winter soldier's buckled harness.

ah, the harness. it's the crown jewel of james' persona, the one piece that telegraphs everything one needs to know about him: that this is a weapon whose power is deadly - and controlled by one man. it's also the first piece that comes off in sharon carter's high town penthouse. it's a shame when it does, zemo's eyes roving across james' back and shoulders, over the edge of a crystal glass. he takes a long inhale of the scotch he’s poured himself as he watches, leaned back against a wide walnut dresser, taking a sip only when james turns and catches his eye in the warm, dim light.

though they're a couple of meters apart, zemo's sure of what he sees there - the blue of the man's eyes have darkened beyond what light will naturally do. the flickers he sees as the winter soldier's coat gets shed are ones zemo knows instinctively as the roil of resentment, anger, regret.

zemo knows because he's felt that sickening wave himself before. many times, following successful operations.

he takes another pull of the scotch, lets it sit and expand on his tongue before swallowing.

in the next room, sharon and sam speak in low, neutral tones. familiar, but wary. nothing exciting yet. it means zemo has a moment here to press this sliver of an opening to see what it yields. he's unable - or unwilling - to do anything less.

he lowers his glass. ]

You gave quite an impressive performance at the bar. Violent, efficient. I would expect nothing less from a man of your abilities. [ he might sound mocking, but zemo means it honestly. he gives a small nod of appreciation and lets the fresh memory of the incident curl the corners of his mouth upward just barely. ] To watch you is a rare gift.

Comments

[podchinyatsya]

[ Zemo walks over, each step as deliberate as if he'd planned them from birth. Even now, he stalks like a predator, a large cat coming to investigate its newest toy...or meal.

Again, his innermost fears are laid bare with simple words, the horrible truth of an unspoken fate should he be careless enough to get captured. There was no contingency because the Soldier would simply not be taken. The alternative was-- well, the end of the line.

Steve. Bucky almost almost puts it up like the shield he's struggled so hard to preserve, but the split second before a protest leaves his lips he remembers. Steve had basically crossed desert wastes for him, had been his delivering angel in Azzano. When Bucky was dying from pneumonia and cold and harsh labor, Steve had come for him. When Bucky was on the run in Europe just trying to stay alive long enough to get his head straight, Steve had come for him. Hell, when the battle for earth was to take place in Wakanda, Steve had come. Not for him specifically, perhaps, but he was there.

When Steve returned the borrowed stones, he never came back. He'd left Bucky and Sam to take care of one another, and gone off for his own life, his own happiness. He'd left Bucky to fend for himself in a world that barely made sense, just to chase a picket fence life. "To the end of the line" hadn't meant their line together, it had meant Steve's with Bucky.

Bucky stares down into his glass, feeling suddenly brittle. Something moldy and bitter has grown up within him, a weed never pulled. Steve watched him fall, but didn't come back for him. Unfair as it is, Bucky resents Steve for it. He resents him for wanting a good life with a family and leaving his real family behind.

Bucky keeps trying to scry with his drink, but no answers reveal themselves. He finds that he can't answer Zemo's question, but it's not a question, not really. It's just another fact he's pulled into the light, easy as taking a book down from the shelf. Bucky's silence and downcast eyes are likely answer enough. ]

[helmut]

[ a patient man, zemo has found much to appreciate and learn from silence. when it's all another person can give him in return for his insight, it's enough. it's plenty.

from james, the silence is a deafening response. to his credit, james plays most things close to the vest, and to an ordinary person, he'd probably appear as stone-faced or distant. detached, even. and while the man possesses shades of any of those qualities, he's unable to truly hide the turbulent whirl of emotion underneath his hardened gaze.

so while james says nothing, he confirms zemo's query anyway. ninety years of survival would torment any man's soul, much less as restless as the one living in james.

zemo averts his eyes, as though he means to give james a moment to collect himself. his fingers tap lightly along the rim of his half-full glass contemplatively, shaking his head. ]

You never heard me say it. You would never have known. For that, I'm sorry. [ what he's saying now may as well be thoughts spoken aloud than anything james needs to know. when he turns back, there's a sad smile hanging on his face. ] 'No man left behind.' That's what you American soldiers say to one another, right? I have never left a man behind and I certainly don't intend to let that happen now. [ mischief pulls at his mouth now. ] Even if you can take that bar apart with your hands.

[podchinyatsya]

[ The apology rings true, and it stirs something in Bucky he hadn't realized was so profoundly damaged until now. He knows Steve loved him, would do anything for him...but Steve still left him behind. When Bucky turned around and saw an old man, he saw someone who had lived an entire life without him in it. Bucky had swallowed that pain, shoved it deep down and buried it. But the weight of it kept growing until it collapsed in on itself and became a black maw, a void sucking the life out of him.

Bucky needs someone. He needs someone there to mitigate his chaos, to keep him right as he finds his way. And when Zemo declares he's never abandoned his men, Bucky knows it to be the truth as easy as the sunrise. He hadn't read much about EKO Scorpion, Zemo's death squad, but he knows enough about how those units function to know that they'd rather die than leave someone behind. Zemo reckons Bucky as one of his own men, and that sort of fierce loyalty plugs the gap that's been draining him bit by bit.

"Even if you can take that bar apart with your hands." Zemo believes in Bucky's capability. He would guide Bucky with a patient hand. Zemo would not leave him to fend for himself, would gently correct him if--

Stop. This is fucking insane. He can't be fantasizing about being the companion to a madman. For chrissakes, the Dora Milaje will hunt this man down given a little more time, how could Bucky throw his lot in with him? Ayo would have his head on a pike and rip that Vibranium arm right off his body and beat him with it. Bucky shakes his head no, as if trying to break a snake charmer's spell. Finally he's able to meet Zemo's eyes, even if he's far less confident than he was a few moments ago. ]

Stop trying to recruit me.

[ You almost had me, he doesn't say. He can't. He can't admit that he's so weak and broken that simple kindness (or the pretention of it) is enough to start seducing him. It makes him feel like prey. ]

heh

[helmut]

[ there is a whole inner world being explored behind james' eyes, and though zemo is privy to none of these thoughts, he does like to imagine it. there are times in james' brooding presence zemo tries to postulate on what form those thoughts take, which particular regrets james hovers over at any given time.

is it the year that left him behind? the best friend that did? are there unexplored horrors from the war that buffer the newer ones james racked up over the course of fifty years of bending history?

all are true, zemo knows. but some are more pressing than others. and right now, certain brands of his anguish are pushed to the forefront. he can read them in james' reaction, in the shaking of his head and the emphasis in his voice. that he pushes back, distills everything zemo's offered to something as crass as recruitment.

his brows lift, gesturing to the empty room, as though it's indicative of what he doesn't have. ]

Recruit you for what? I haven't anything of my own. No team to recruit you for and certainly no cause that you don't champion yourself.

[ now might be a good time to remind the man that they're operating out of the same location, that they're on the same side. ]

Your trust issues are just fine if you intend to keep yourself friendless and lonely, but they may become a problem for the rest of us if you continue to doubt my sincerity.

[ 'the rest of us' being him and sam. two regular men, without the benefit of a serum to keep them alive should james' darkness continue to cloud him. zemo's eyes drop, roaming over james' body like he can find anything there other than an impressively fitted t-shirt and the gleam of a vibranium hand. his chin lifts a fraction, knowingly. ]

What was it you felt, unearthing a persona you have spent so much effort trying to bury?

hnnnnnn

[podchinyatsya]

[ Hasn't anything of his own--says the man with a private plane and servant, who thinks people like him shouldn't exist. Bucky knows that at least before, he was a means to an end. Zemo did what he felt he had to, and that meant once again erasing the will of a man Zemo would sooner lodge a bullet between the eyes of...were he anyone else. Bucky doesn't occupy himself with why Zemo seems so fascinated by him, why he continually tries to unlatch the locks of his personality to see the toy soldier underneath. Why he suddenly seems so enamored of him and not merely biding his time for a chance to finish his work.

Maybe he feels he can't. Maybe he feels he shouldn't. Either way, Bucky's flat expression telegraphs just how full of shit he thinks Zemo is. The man has graduated to psychoanalysis it seems, going by his astute commentary on Bucky's alleged trust issues (commentary that somewhere, Dr. Raynor is emphatically co-signing). Bucky rolls his eyes, ready to tell Zemo just how his trust works in relation to their mission, but then comes the raking of eyes, the words that cut deep beneath his emotional armor.

What was it you felt?

The floor drops out from underneath him, and he fights to conceal the sudden unmoored feeling (likely failing in some capacity, if not all of them). Try as he might, he simply cannot ignore that roiling within himself, that feral violence and unmitigated rage at the injustices he suffered. Bucky knows this is an attempt to make him unsteady, but he finds that he can't fight it in spite of that.

In his mind, he's already wrapped a hand around Zemo's throat, and there's a split second where he blinks out of it when he realizes it's only a fantasy. Bucky's eyes darken, and he closes the distance, attempting to parry with his own query. Every fiber of his body radiates danger, the predator within demanding to be released. ]

What do you think?

[ His tone is low, rumbling like a damp stone hallway whose stones have begun to crumble. It dares Zemo to ask for the beast that would manifest itself. ]

[helmut]

[ there are better methods than these, surely, to soothe the mind of the savage beast. gentler methods, perhaps more nurturing ones, but zemo has seen the version of james barnes that he would rather deny exist than embrace. that is not a man that looks to be nurtured. that's one that longs to be acknowledged.

still, zemo's aim is hardly to knock the man off his feet. james's stability, while questionable, benefits them all, and to take it from him jeopardizes not only their safety, but the success of the mission.

but what he sees, in flashes of darkness and angst, is something zemo can't bear to let go of. like pulling on a loose thread, james' crisis of identity is something zemo longs to help unravel. and maybe, if he's careful, he can help james gather it back up again, form him into something new.

before he realizes what's happening, james is advancing on him, weight pitched forward, low. he's on zemo in a blink, and while generally he takes pride in his ability to school his reactions, he can't help the way his spine straightens, eyes widening in excited fear. the breaths he takes are quick, but his gaze hardens in the moment before he moves his head to very obviously give james another once over.

even if james can strike animal fear into him, zemo is still master over his own person. his chin lifts minutely and after a moment of consideration, nods. ]

I think you expected agony. The same pain that follows you into every dream and nightmare. But you did not find it, did you?

[ there's a challenge there that zemo knows is testing the limits of james' self control. if only he were capable of stopping himself. his voice grows more rough as the pupils dilate. ]

It was convenient. Too convenient. And that's what troubles you.

[podchinyatsya]

[ For the briefest of moments, Bucky's force of presence has the intended reaction and he revels in it: fear. The subtle way Zemo's muscles tighten, brain shouting to run or prepare to fight for survival; increased respiration, advancing oxygen to a body that needs clarity for speed of reaction.

Zemo keeps examining him and Bucky nearly screams to demand what the man finds lacking, what deep epiphanies he finds inscribed on a war-forged body. Bucky's lips press into a thin, angry line, one eye twitching as he struggles to maintain control over his temper. If he were a kettle, the rolling boil would be growing into a progressively louder whistle.

He clenches his fist as tightly as it can possibly allow to keep from wrapping his fingers around Zemo's throat. But he doesn't have the ability to keep from pushing further in, looming to test the man's mettle. ]

You don't know anything about me.

[ It's a lie, and he knows it when he articulates the words low and dangerous. At best it is wishful thinking, a mantra he could conjure into reality if he said it enough. But Zemo does know. He knows too much, and there's a lingering truth between them that simply cannot be given articulation: that violence, that brutality? Bucky had enjoyed it. ]

[helmut]

[ while certainly part of an act, james' size and presence exude precariousness and danger. it's enough to keep zemo's heart beating at a rapid clip, but whether that pounding comes from fear or arousal, it's hard to tell. impossible to pull the two apart now. zemo's not sure he minds.

he's also not sure he minds that james can read this, able to identify the stink of fear on him like a belgian malinois. a barely contained police dog, straining at the end of his leash, jaws snapping just short of zemo's throat.

but while zemo enjoys the rush of adrenaline that accompanies the danger of being throttled, the energy in the room could stand to turn down a degree or two. so he softens his voice, more intent on cutting to the truth rather than rattling it loose from james' mind. ]

Don't I? [ he murmurs, brows raising. ] Just as you don't know anything about me, having read whatever you could find before appearing at my cell. You have me well diagnosed, don't you? Some silver spoon dilettante, mentally and emotionally unstable after the horrors he's wrought in wartime. Unwell, crazy, even. Tell me, do I fit the profile?

[podchinyatsya]

[ Zemo is spoiled, pampered by wealth and his nobility. Perhaps not a dilettante, but someone who is used to being treated a step above other classes. But it's all a smokescreen, something flashy to distract from the hardened mercenary beneath, and Bucky's not fooled by it (even if he can enjoy the spoils of that very wealth).

A snarl that pretends to be a smile tugs at his lips, hinting at the fangs beneath. ]

You're no soft rich-boy. Unwell maybe. Crazy, definitely.

[ He rakes his own eyes finally over Zemo's frame, taking in the tailored clothing and the wrinkles in his finely-pressed shirt from where the gun holster had once sat fastened. Something pretty can be its own sort of weapon, a diversion of the eyes to offset one's guard. He won't kid himself with Zemo's flamboyance-- the man is dangerous, calculating.

And it's all the more deadly when someone has nothing left to lose. Without a family, Zemo is a one-man kamikaze, laser-focused on his target and utterly unassailable. ]

Your body count isn't as high as mine, but I know what you're capable of.

[helmut]

[ while manipulation isn't exactly his usual modus operandi, there's a certain satisfaction to be had when it's done successfully. when zemo lowers bait into the cage and the chained lion takes a lunge at it, as predicted. it happens now, as zemo makes himself seem vulnerable and seen. but even so, he can't help the knowing smirk that plays on his mouth, nodding in agreement with james' read on him.

and he'll let himself be physically seen too, james' eyes passing over him. he's being analyzed right back. james probably wants a read on his state of mind, unable to find it elsewhere. ]

I may not have lived as long as you have, but my crimes are likely as... [ here zemo rolls the wrist of his free hand, as though conjuring the phrase he's looking for, ] 'off the record' as yours are. On behalf of my country, of course.

[ but this is not the time to compare kill counts. and zemo's pride hardly lies in the number of people whose lives he's ended. likely james' pride doesn't either. only his guilt. ]

You know what that means, right? It means we have each seen things that will stay with us until we take our last breaths. That I know what it's like to cause fear. It also means that I know the look of a man who has skirted too closely to the precipice and has remembered what it feels like to be exposed.

[ zemo nods, like he's certain of the conclusion he's drawn. his voice softens. ]

There should be no shame in feeling pride in what you can do.

[podchinyatsya]

Pride?

[ The predator bares its fangs, his mind reeling at how Zemo could compare them, how he could possibly think his mercenary tactics would parallel to anything the Winter Soldier did. Nostrils flaring and eyes blazing, Bucky barely keeps his fists at his side. ]

You killed because you wanted to.

[ He didn't have that luxury, didn't have the capacity for choice. Whatever husk they made him out to be could never even conceive of disobedience. The punishment was too severe.

But here Zemo stands assured, firm on his self-righteousness, acting as if they're anything alike. As if Bucky decided to murder people wholesale. As if he furthered some noble cause.

As if the nightmares don't come for him every day. Bucky seethes, searching Zemo's face to try and discern his ulterior motives here. Is he trying to gain sympathy, or solidarity? Is he trying to ease Bucky's guilt in his own skewed way? What's the goal here? That feels more disorienting than the assessments themselves. ]

[helmut]

[ finally, something to give zemo pause.

not that james is right, because he isn't. zemo often labors under misrepresentations of who he is, and for the most part, it can work to his advantage. 'crazy.' that's a label that simply means others find him unpredictable. that his motivations are carefully concealed, all by design. but here, now, with james clearly struggling for purchase and in need of solid land to plant his feet, it isn't a classification he has any desire to argue with.

weren't they both soldiers, once? soldiers with orders, with duties to carry out. there is no arguing in the army, and moral grandstanding is grounds for discharge. or worse.

all zemo can do is shake his head, brow furrowed. ]

And did you hurt these men because you wanted to? Or because you thought I wanted you to?

[podchinyatsya]

[ Ah but it would be too convenient to pretend he was merely a pawn of his superiors, wouldn't it? Zemo must know that his personal hit squad wasn't subject to such oversight, to the whims of governments or politicians. That's likely the primary reason for its formation, in fact.

Unlike most men, Bucky knows what it is to follow orders because it's your duty, and also because you are forced. Perhaps there wasn't as much in the HYDRA literature about just how much arguing Bucky did in those early days with the Soviets, once his fractured memory started to heal. It wouldn't look as good as recording all the successes in breaking him, the lengthy process of hollowing a man. The Soviet regime was nothing if not a propagandist powerhouse.

At any rate-- ]

Did you forget the part where you told me to attack them, or am I suddenly making up the whole "act like the Winter Soldier so they let us in the bar" thing?

[helmut]

"Act like the Winter Soldier in order for us to get close to Selby," more like, but this is a distinction based on semantics and probably not worth debating.

[ he's stalling. whatever comparisons he's drawing between himself and james are too unpalatable to begin to imagine.

for months, in the dark of drab, rented flats or safehouses across europe and america, all zemo had was the work. in the unnatural blue light of his laptop screen, zemo first found a familiar target - the winter soldier - but quickly that target evolved. with every SHEILD file decrypted, every scrap of intel added to zemo's ever-growing folder, a portrait began to emerge: not a weapon, a soldier, or even a prisoner. just a man. a man who once had a home, a family and future, stripped of everything in a series of unlucky dice throws. what zemo produced from his research was a man he could connect with, one whose scant similarities felt like purposeful echoes.

both with happy childhoods. soldiers. men with families. and then all hope taken, a life upended in one moment.

james can't stand to imagine their similarities, but zemo can't bear to let them go.

it's just as well. perhaps the gulf between them will only widen throughout the mission rather than narrow as zemo anticipated. or hoped.

well. never hurts to try. even if the attempt gets him killed. he lowers his drink. ]

You never answered my question. What did it feel like to pull the shadow back on like a mask?