For @discobaron

[endsinafight]

There's a plain canvas tote over one shoulder, as Bucky scanned the sterile corridor of the underwater prison with a look that was half-bored, half-wary. Mostly wary.

It smelled like salt and steel. The kind of place where silence had weight, and everything echoed more than it should.

He shifted his grip on the strap of the bag.

Books. That was what he’d brought. Nothing controversial—some history, a couple of classics, one newer novel he hadn’t read but figured Zemo might like. Things to keep a man busy in a place like this.

And maybe—maybe—to keep the visit from feeling too personal.

Bucky wasn’t exactly sure why he’d agreed to come. Curiosity? Guilt? That unrelenting itch in the back of his skull that Zemo had planted with those texts—the ones that straddled the line between insight and provocation, truth and manipulation. Zemo had always known how to pick the lock on people’s heads. Bucky just wasn’t sure if his was still locked.

He exhaled slowly through his nose as the guard led him to the visiting area. His jaw tensed as the door slid open, and—

There he was. Sitting like he owned the damn place. Calm, poised, like the walls weren’t closing in on him.

Bucky stepped forward, dropped the bag of books onto the table with a soft thud, and raised an eyebrows. "Zemo."

He didn’t sit yet. He just stood there, weight shifting slightly onto his left foot. Watching. Waiting to see if this was a conversation, a trap, or something even messier.

Comments

[discobaron]

"Hello James. Your hair's gotten longer." Zemo offers a smile, one that nearly crinkles the corners of his eyes. But he remains polite and poised as he sits at the table, hands folded in front of himself. His wrists are cuffed, attached to a rather short chain that should prevent him from straying too far from his seat.

The baron's scruffy himself, his own hair longer than he prefers keeping it. He's also thinner, a tired look about his person, manifesting in a bit of darkness right below the eyes. But he's in high spirits regardless.

It's only after he's said his hello and taken a rather long look at his visitor that his attention drifts, shifting towards the bag that's been dumped onto the tabletop.

"What's this?" He blinks, then gestures vaguely with one of his hands. It's usually against protocol for anything to be brought down here, so color him curious. The baron's a seasoned rule-breaker himself, but even his connections take him a long while to procure little luxuries.

[endsinafight]

"Yeah." He's not entirely sure why he'd decided to let it grow out again, but...he had. He keeps his eyes on Zemo, considering him for a long moment as he takes in the sight of the other man. He looks -- a bit gaunt, actually. But his eyes are bright, sharp.

He's not sure why that's such a relief to see.

"Books," Bucky answers, moving and sitting down in the chair across from him. "I wasn't sure what your favorites were, so I brought a variety." It had taken a lot of finagling to get the higher ups to allow it, especially considering he'd brought more than one. "But...I figure even if something's not your favorite, it's something to do." It's more than he'd ever been allowed under HYDRA custody.

[discobaron]

"It suits you," he adds to the compliment, his tone rather cordial. But someone who knows Zemo well enough would be able to catch the faintest traces of affection in his words.

"You brought me books?" He straightens up in his chair, reaching out to tug the bag closer to him by one of the fabric handles. It's a bit of a struggle what with being restrained and all, but he makes it work. He can barely contain his excitement. And he starts fishing out the bags' contents, his eyes scanning over the covers while Bucky talks. The books are stacked one by one into a pile.

"Oh - these are lovely, James. Thank you." He glances up, smiling brighter than before, the copy of Wuthering Heights in hand. "I'll be sure to enjoy them all."

[endsinafight]

Bucky watched Zemo tug the bag toward himself like a kid on Christmas morning, and something about the sheer enthusiasm in his face made it hard to look away. Not that Bucky let that show—he just crossed his arms loosely over his chest, watching the books get stacked like Zemo was building a fortress out of paper and careful politeness.

“That one’s a mess,” he said, nodding toward Wuthering Heights with a wry twist of his mouth. “Seemed fitting.”

He glanced away for a beat, let his eyes scan the cell, the walls, the camera in the corner—anything but the way Zemo was smiling. Too much warmth in it. Too much of something he didn’t quite trust, even if he wanted to.

“You’re welcome,” he said eventually, quieter. “Didn’t figure you had much else to do down here.”

There was a pause then, a subtle shift in weight. His tone edged a little flatter, a little more defensive—but not cold.

“Just books, though. No hidden weapons. No plans folded into the pages.” His gaze flicked back to Zemo, sharp but not unkind. “Figured if you’re gonna manipulate me, you could at least do it the old-fashioned way. Face to face.”

He meant it as a jab. Sort of. But there was an opening there, too—small, reluctant, and real. An invitation, maybe, if Zemo knew how to read it.

And Bucky had the feeling he did.