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.

[discobaron]

Zemo turns the book towards himself so he can look at the cover properly. "This one?" he asks, playing coy, giving the tome a playful shake. The smile shows no sign of leaving his face. The baron is truly excited by these gifts. "It's one of my favorites actually." Mess - meet mess. How intuitive of you, Bucky.

He puts Wuthering Heights on top of the pile, sitting back in his chair so he can admire the book spines. He runs his fingers down them as if committing all the titles to memory. Bucky really did bring him a decent variety.

"I look forward to reading them," he comments, his expression softening some. Then he adds a moment later, giving a resolute nod: "And I'll be sure to report back on each of them."

The baron chuckles some, his head ducking to hide the faint pinkness on his cheeks. "Manipulate you? I'm sorry my dear but it seems you've done an outstanding job of knocking me off-kilter for a change." No manipulation here, just honesty. Congratulations, Buckaroo.

[endsinafight]

Bucky let out a low scoff, barely more than breath, when Zemo called Wuthering Heights one of his favorites.

“Of course it is,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Figures you'd relate to a guy who haunts people just to prove a point.”

But his tone wasn’t biting. More… resigned. The kind of comment you make when someone’s chaos stopped being surprising a while ago.

He finally sat, the chair creaking under his weight. Not relaxed—he never really was—but no longer looming like a threat, either. Elbows braced on the table, hands folded loosely. Watchful.

“You don’t have to report back,” he said, eyes flicking toward the pile of books before landing back on Zemo. “I didn’t bring them for a book club.”

Another beat. His voice softened—barely noticeable unless you were listening for it.

“But if you do... I wouldn’t mind hearing what you think.”

And then came that line. My dear and off-kilter, and the flush Zemo was clearly trying to pretend didn’t exist.

Bucky blinked once. Slowly.

“Jesus.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, fingers catching briefly in his hair as if trying to physically shake the words off. But he wasn’t angry. Not leaving. Not snapping back.

When he lowered his hand again, he looked tired—but not in the usual way. Less haunted, more like someone trying to figure out if he’d just accidentally walked into a very strange version of a second chance.

“…You really don’t want anything, huh?” he asked, quieter now. “Not pulling some string I haven’t seen yet?”

There was no accusation in it. Just honest confusion. Honest doubt.

And maybe—just maybe—a part of him hoping the answer really was no.

[discobaron]

Judging his literature preferences like that... Zemo scoffs right along with him, but with a good-natured smile. Despite his best efforts, the other man's gotten him figured out. Or at the very least - he's in tune with his behaviors by now.

"A book club," he repeats, sitting himself up some. He knows Bucky is kidding, but leave it to Zemo to run with things. Is he teasing? Possibly. But it's in the most earnest way possible, his tone playful and light. "Now that's an idea. Would be better with more than one person, I think... but I don't mind starting things off."

It would certainly give them more reason to correspond. And maybe, at the end of the day, that's all Zemo truly wants. More chances to connect with the man he finds the most fascinating.

The shift in energy is a noticeable one - and yes, he's blushing in the rather low light of the visitation room, looking away to avoid whatever it is Bucky plans on throwing at him in response.

"This is more than enough, James," he says, finally resuming eye contact and gesturing between them as best he can with a cuffed hand. Then he rests both of them lightly atop the pile of books, treating the gifts with such reverence. "And your kindness is much appreciated."

[endsinafight]

“Right,” he said, deadpan. “You, me, and a bunch of inmates talking about Gothic fiction over coffee and commissary snacks. Sounds like a dream.”

But his eyes betrayed him. A flicker of something softer, an almost-smile pulling at the corner of his mouth before he caught it and flattened it out again.

When Zemo looked away, Bucky didn’t press. He just watched him—watched the way his hands rested gently on the stack of books like they meant something. Like he meant something.

It was disarming. More than Bucky liked to admit.

He leaned forward a little, arms still crossed, voice low and rough around the edges. “I don’t know if you’re faking that or not,” he said honestly, nodding toward the blush, the softness, the gratitude that still didn’t feel quite real. “But if you are… you’re better at this than I thought.”

A beat.

“But if you’re not… then I guess I’m the one who doesn’t know what to do with that.”

[discobaron]

Now there's a mental image. He cracks a smile at it, shaking his head. Bucky's always so funny, whether he's aware of it or not. It just comes natural, and that's one of the things Zemo finds himself so enamored with. Delivery is everything, and the flatness of Bucky's demeanor-- it's so humorous and never fails to amuse him.

Zemo remains leaning back in his seat until he notices the other man leaning in towards the table. It's only then that he seeks to move and mirror the action as best he can, genuinely interested in the conversation, wanting to show Bucky he's got his full attention. A hand still touching the stack of books, fingertips gently brushing along the spines again. If they were a cat they'd purr or at the very least begin to rumble.

"I'm not faking, James," he says, his tone calm and even. No muttering, no murmurs, no glancing away or attempting to cover anything up. There's no reason to. "No more secrets. You deserve more than that from me."