helmut zemo has learned this the hard way. as the head of EKO scorpion, if he took his men deep into sovereign territory, wiped out one mastermind at the head of a terrorist organization, it would not have the intended effect of dismantling said organization. instead, it may throw the group into a scramble, and in a power vaccum, that power does not stay untouched for long. someone fills the void as soon as it's available. power shifts, it morphs.
james barnes knows this better than anyone. while zemo does not command the man like one of his squadmates, james is still a dutiful soldier. deadly. efficient. knowledgable. together, they make a more than formidable team.
when zemo stops to think of it too long, he finds himself thrilled with their current predicament: he and james together, alone with nothing but scraps of intel and cash and fine restaurant meals hand delivered to their door. it settles on zemo like the weight of an aged scotch, the looseness of alcohol coursing through his system. it strikes him sometimes when he wakes to find james perched on a leather sofa, when zemo arranges for clothing purchases, james' measurements deduced only through the power of astute observation.
(zemo is always right about the fit, even without confirmation.)
knowing james is part of zemo's own, personal work. part and parcel to this arrangement of stamping out the remnants of HYDRA. it means he's always making mental notes, looking for vulnerabilities and openings. it also means he can't help himself when he pretends to slip too closely to james as they pass each other in the attached kitchen one day, brushing up against james' body in a way that makes the man bristle, enough that he doesn't notice that zemo's other hand has successfully lifted a small notebook from his back pocket.
zemo knows better than to read it right away. so he waits, and when sleep does not come for him like it ought to - such a change of scenery, even for the better, doesn't help settle the fight response in zemo's body - he rises up out of bed, gathers a robe, and settles himself at the head of the dining room table. it was his favorite place as a child, and that hasn't changed nearly thirty years later.
when james walks in to join him, zemo makes very sure he does not meet the man's eyes for a moment, too engrossed in the pages of the notebook to deign james worthy of his immediate attention. even though james is more than worthy, perhaps the only person he's met worthy of his deepening fixation.
he does, at least, offer james a humorless smile that fades quickly. ]
As someone who was not conscious through his imprisonment, you would not know that there's not much sleep to be had in prison. [ he flips a page and settles the book down under one primly folded hand, trapping it against the table. not enough to hide the item, but enough to pique curiosity. ] There is so much noise. But here... there is nothing but quiet. It's a disconcerting notion to know that I've become accustomed to chaos. As you no doubt surely are.
[ james is awake, looking like he doesn't sleep for more than a few hours in general. and the hours he does get do not a thing for the man's appearance and mood. ]
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branchandroot
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Date: 2021-04-30 08:10 pm (UTC)helmut zemo has learned this the hard way. as the head of EKO scorpion, if he took his men deep into sovereign territory, wiped out one mastermind at the head of a terrorist organization, it would not have the intended effect of dismantling said organization. instead, it may throw the group into a scramble, and in a power vaccum, that power does not stay untouched for long. someone fills the void as soon as it's available. power shifts, it morphs.
james barnes knows this better than anyone. while zemo does not command the man like one of his squadmates, james is still a dutiful soldier. deadly. efficient. knowledgable. together, they make a more than formidable team.
when zemo stops to think of it too long, he finds himself thrilled with their current predicament: he and james together, alone with nothing but scraps of intel and cash and fine restaurant meals hand delivered to their door. it settles on zemo like the weight of an aged scotch, the looseness of alcohol coursing through his system. it strikes him sometimes when he wakes to find james perched on a leather sofa, when zemo arranges for clothing purchases, james' measurements deduced only through the power of astute observation.
(zemo is always right about the fit, even without confirmation.)
knowing james is part of zemo's own, personal work. part and parcel to this arrangement of stamping out the remnants of HYDRA. it means he's always making mental notes, looking for vulnerabilities and openings. it also means he can't help himself when he pretends to slip too closely to james as they pass each other in the attached kitchen one day, brushing up against james' body in a way that makes the man bristle, enough that he doesn't notice that zemo's other hand has successfully lifted a small notebook from his back pocket.
zemo knows better than to read it right away. so he waits, and when sleep does not come for him like it ought to - such a change of scenery, even for the better, doesn't help settle the fight response in zemo's body - he rises up out of bed, gathers a robe, and settles himself at the head of the dining room table. it was his favorite place as a child, and that hasn't changed nearly thirty years later.
when james walks in to join him, zemo makes very sure he does not meet the man's eyes for a moment, too engrossed in the pages of the notebook to deign james worthy of his immediate attention. even though james is more than worthy, perhaps the only person he's met worthy of his deepening fixation.
he does, at least, offer james a humorless smile that fades quickly. ]
As someone who was not conscious through his imprisonment, you would not know that there's not much sleep to be had in prison. [ he flips a page and settles the book down under one primly folded hand, trapping it against the table. not enough to hide the item, but enough to pique curiosity. ] There is so much noise. But here... there is nothing but quiet. It's a disconcerting notion to know that I've become accustomed to chaos. As you no doubt surely are.
[ james is awake, looking like he doesn't sleep for more than a few hours in general. and the hours he does get do not a thing for the man's appearance and mood. ]
You don't sleep either, do you?