It hasn't been long since he moved into the tower, so you were still adjusting to the fact that you got to see him. All. The. Time. Not to get you wrong, it was great seeing him, really. But it was also annoying. Not because of him, but because you began a real crush on him. And it was annoying, because every time he walked into the room, your heart began beating irregularly and your breath hitched. And this was not the usual you. You're an avenger, for fuck's sake! Why would your body suddenly betray you like that?

The worst thing though, was that you were pretty sure that he noticed how weirdly you behaved around him. At first, he simply raised one of his black brows at you when you started rambling in his presence. As did the other avengers, by the way. No one understood what had gotten into you lately. But most of them simply went along with it after some time.

Not him, though. After weeks of your rambling and even slight blushing (like, literal blushing!!), Loki wore a slight grin as soon as he saw you. He definitely knew. And you hated it. You weren't some school girl who didn't have her own body under control. At least you didn't want to be.

Fortunately, during missions, you could ban him from your thoughts, being able o concentrate fully on the task at hand. But as soon as you stepped into the plane, or whatever vehicle brought yourself and your teammates home, the sparkle of mischief in the god's eyes were far too distracting to be ignored.

Today was no different. The mission had gone successfully, everyone was exhausted and just wanted to sleep, or shower, or both. Once you had all arrived in the tower, though, you ordered from your favourite local pizza place and ate together in the kitchen.

Of course, you sat opposite of Loki and could not prevent yourself from sneaking a few glances at him. Once in a while, you noticed he side glanced your way too, always the slightest grin adorning his lips. You tried to convince yourself that no, he wasn't looking at you. He was simply irritated from your constant staring. You couldn't let yourself adore the fantasy of him finding a liking in you. You wouldn't. It would hurt far too much if it wasn't true.

You slightly shook your head, trying to get rid of your thoughts of Loki, and finally averting your gaze away from him for the rest of the meal.

After the meal, you took a long, hot shower, threw on a fresh pair of pyjamas and were prepared for a good night's sleep. Loki thought otherwise. You were startled when you heard a knocking on your door, and even more so when Loki opened your door and leaned again your doorframe. He almost seemed, shy? He was in sweats and a loosely fitting shirt, a sight you did not happen to see very often. It looked good on him, of course. Everything did.

You were ripped away from your thoughts as Loki cleared his throatt, having obviously caught you staring. Now he seemed far from shy. Fortunately, it was already fairly dark in your room, so it was unlikely that he caught your blushing as well.

You cleared your throat as well. "Can I- uhm, can I help you with anything?". Loki's gaze fell to the floor, and he seemed shy again. You weren't sure how to interpret his behaviour. "Can I come in?", he eventually asked, not really answering your question, but you went along with it and nodded. He stepped into your room and slowly closed the door behind him.

The room was now merely illuminated by the light on your nightstand. You sat up a little straighter, thinking it would be appropriate. He took a few steps into your room, his gaze not yet leaving the floor. You raised an eyebrow at him.

He suddenly stopped pacing, turning around to your frame with such force that you flinched just the slightest. He noticed. "Sorry,", he muttered. His eyes met yours. Those vibrant eyes, staring back into yours relentlessly. "Is it okay if I-?", he asked, gesturing towards the sport opposite of you, on your bed.

Loki. On your bed. Okay. You tried containing letting out a shaky breath. It was ridiculous. "Sure!", you said, maybe a little too quick. It didn't matter. You were beyond a point of trying not to embarrass yourself in front of him. He sat down, gently. He was close to you, but not too close. You sensed he did not want to invade your space too much. You wouldn't have minded, though.

The god sat down, gaze once again fixed on the floor, giving you the opportunity to look at him again. His hair was freshly washed, making it look all the more soft. His shirt fitted tight enough to be able to see how muscular he really was. He fiddled with his hands. He seemed almost nervous. What was going on?

Loki's calm, deep voice abruptly interrupted your train of thought. "Do you like me?", he finally asked, exhaling loudly afterwards, and looking up to you again. Your eyes widened at his question, heat rushing to your cheeks. Now he would definitely notice the blushing. Your thoughts began running about a 100 miles per hour, not being able to focus on anything you could answer.

"Y-you mean...you mean as a f-friend? Sure, I like you, Loki!", you forced a fake laugh. None of this was funny for you, really. The god looked at you funny, trying to make sense of what you were saying. An eyebrow was once again raised, nonetheless not accompanied by a grin. Rather, he looked confused, which scared you.

He averted his gaze shortly afterwards, before speaking again. "No,", he began, directing his gaze towards you again. "I mean... do you like me as more than a friend?", he finally asked. You gulped. Now you were the one looking away. You looked at your hands, which were nervously playing with each other in your lap. Tears involuntarily sprung to your eyes. This was humiliating. Much more so because you could not hide how embarrassing this was for you.

Suddenly, you were angry with him. "I think you already know the answer to that question.", you stated, raising your gaze to meet his. Your expression was determined. "Now that you got what you want, now that you've humiliated me, is that all?", you asked angrily, hurt. "Wha-", he tried, but you cut him off.

"I mean it, Loki. You have your answer. Yes, I like you as more than a friend. Yes, a stupid mortal has a stupid crush on you. Did you hear what you came to hear?", you blurted out. Despite your angry tone and face, the corner of Loki's lips rose into a hesitant smile, making you even more furious. "Quit smiling!", you almost yelled, rising from your bed, making him stand as well.

He shook his head slightly, trying to hide his smile. "No, no!", he began, hands risen in a defensive manner. "I'm not here to make fun of you, darling," he continued. Your shoulders fell from their offensive position. "I promise.", he assured. You rose an eyebrow at him, urging him to explain himself.

He was hesitant at first, but then finally said what he came for to say. "I'm asking because...", he paused. "Because I like you, too,", he admitted. "As more than a friend." His voice rang through your ears, his voice somehow stopped the world from spinning for a second. He liked you back? A silence followed.

"Why should I believe you?", you inquired, heart beating rapidly, breath uneven. "You're the god of lies, after all.", you dared say. "I've changed, you know that." he countered. A pause.

"Doesn't mean you can't still be a fuckboy.", you pushed further, making him chuckle. He took a step towards you, then another, until he stood right in front of you. He reached towards one of your hands, then took it into his. Slowly, all the while remaining eye contact to see whether you approved of his actions. He raised your hand to his chest, laying it on top of his heart.

"If I was lying, would my heart beat as quickly as it does now?", he inquired, his voice had gotten quieter, to a point where it was barely above a whisper. Your breath once again hitched in your chest. You felt his heart pounding rapidly underneath your fingers. Your eyes were physically unable to leave his.

"I've never in my life felt like this.", he admitted, whispering. He hesitantly leaned his forehead against yours. Both of you closed your eyes in comfort, exhaling slowly. You stayed like that for a while, until you slowly pulled away just enough to be able to look into his eyes again.

"So,", you chuckled shyly. "what now?" His gaze dropped down to your lips for not more than a second before searching your gaze again. One of his hands gently came up to one of your cheeks, cupping it even more gently. He leaned in the slightest bit before whispering "Can I kiss you?". If you thought your heart was beating fast before, it was no comparison to how fast it was beating now.

“Wet and naked, out into the cold? Don’t be silly.” You hear water sloshing as he moves, then a sigh. “I thought that we’d moved past family names.”

“No,” you reply. You pinch the bridge of your nose. There’s a headache coming on. “We haven’t.” You decide to give in and look at him, and he’s watching you carefully, head cocked. “What?”

“You did kiss me back,” he says, slightly chiding.

Why couldn’t he pretend otherwise? You’ve certainly been trying to, not that it’s proven successful. “I know I did. I thought we were both about to die, though, so—”

“And you wanted my kiss to be the final sensation you carried with you into the afterlife?” Zemo asks, smiling that frustrating little smile. “Interesting.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, you didn’t. You acted, and actions speak louder than words. Don’t they?” His posture shifts. The water ripples. “How is your shoulder?” he asks. “Your ribs?”

“They still hurt,” you admit. Maybe that’s why he’s watching you so closely. He could be waiting to see if you pass out from exhaustion and injury before he attempts to escape. “I imagine you already knew that, though.”

He considers you for a moment more. “They should take better care of you,” he says, and then, with a note of condemnation, “They don’t deserve you, sweet girl.”

Delicious, dreadful heat blooms, sending little shivers down to your toes. You blame the steam from the bath and the cold of the tile beneath your bare feet. That has to be what’s causing such contradictory sensations. It’s certainly not because of him. It’s certainly not because of the soft rasp of his voice, or because of the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s daring you to argue with his judgment. 

You flex your toes against the tile and fight the urge to argue just for the sake of arguing. It’s probably what he wants. You focus instead on the mottled bruises stretching from his right temple to his chin, on the prominent black eye and the shrapnel scratches on his chest. You know his back is in much worse condition. “How about you?” you ask. “You took more of the blast than I did.”

Zemo smiles. It’s gone in a flash, and you wonder yet again if that had been intentional. In the moment, you might’ve imagined him shielding you with his body, twisting you down against the concrete as the explosions began. You probably did imagine it. Your brain hadn’t been concerned with much else besides the certainty that you were about to die, and you’d clung to him like a vine, desperate and terrified, despite all of your training. 

“I will live,” he says. “I always seem to, somehow.”

“I guess it’s good that I was with you, then.” The attempt at teasing falls flat. He’s still watching you with the curious discipline of someone who’s soon going to discover weak points that you aren’t even aware of yet. “Of course, if I hadn’t been next to you, maybe I’d be in perfect shape right now, out tracking terrorists with the rest of the team.”

He hums. “It depends, I suppose. If you’d been standing with James, you would’ve been obliterated”— he snaps his fingers —“like that. But, that doesn’t matter, does it? Because, when the bullets began flying, you didn’t follow James, or Sam, or even Captain America himself. You followed me.”

“Follow the rat to get off a sinking ship,” you reply impulsively, and maybe that’s a little harsh, but - honest-to-God - you think you see an actual twinkle in his eye. 

“Smart girl.”

You can’t help but feel some irritation at how comfortable he looks, sitting there all relaxed in his steaming, fancy bathtub with a little tray of treats set up beside him. You’re almost tempted to sit down on the floor, because you don’t know how much more standing your body can take. Could you try to hurry him along, to order him into a room where it would be more comfortable to keep an eye on him? Sure, you could try. You doubt he’ll comply, though, and you aren’t about to wrestle a naked baron from his bathtub. Besides, if you let him know how desperate you are to rest, he’ll just see it as more proof of your weakness.

You already know how weak you are. It claws at you, the ever-present nagging doubt as to your own usefulness. Sure, you’re stronger than most regular people. Sure, you’re smart. Sure, you’re brave. But… you’ve been called on to help with the work of superheroes. You’ll never be as strong, as smart, as brave. And, even if they’d never say it, maybe you’re more of a liability than an asset. Maybe that’s true, too. Hell, even with the sheer mundaneness of you aside, maybe they’ve noticed how Baron Zemo’s been sinking his claws into you ever since you locked eyes with him that cold day in Bavaria. It makes sense; he has a history with the others, and even if they need him right now, they’ll never trust him. 

You, on the other hand… You are what an evil mastermind might consider highly corruptible. Young. Ambitious. Frightened. Uncertain of your place in the world. You like to think that being aware of so many flaws makes you immune to his charm, but it doesn’t. In a way, it only makes everything worse, because falling for his charm is yet another flaw to add to your ever-growing list. The little flutters of pride when he calls you clever. The genuine gratitude when he passes you a little paper cup brimming with hot tea after a long day on the road. The reminders to eat when you’re so exhausted you’ve forgotten. 

“You think they’ll actually get to the base in time to find Rappaccini?” you ask, desperate to distract yourself, to focus on the mission at hand. The mission is what’s important - not you.

“I doubt it,” Zemo replies. “She’s had more than enough time to realize she is a target. If you knew that a splinter group of rogue Avengers was after you, would you wait for them to find you?”

“You make it sound like we’re bad guys.”

“You did break the law. Many laws, really. Standing here in this room with me right now instead of turning me over to the proper authorities is breaking several more. Every moment, another dose of evil.” He wags his finger like a metronome. “Tick, tock.”

“Necessary evil,” you tell him, but without much force. He’s right. When Steve Rogers himself came asking for your help, it hadn’t even crossed your mind to consider the long-term consequences. You’re doing the right thing, too; you know how important it is that they find this latest poisonous subsect of Hydra before the suspected caches of bioweapons are ready for deployment. It’s not like anyone at SHIELD is listening, not after what SHIELD has become. You rub your arms briskly, trying to get rid of goosebumps, but you end up touching a too-sensitive bruise. 

Zemo, of course, sees you wince. You don’t like that.

You smile bitterly. “Is this the part where you tell me that I’m bound for the Raft and offer me all sorts of money and power if I help you escape?”

“Mm. It is something to consider.”

Your face feels warmer and warmer, yet your hands are clammy. You frown. “How long are you planning to stay in there, Zemo?”

“Hours,” he says, resting his arms on the back of the tub. “A fair trade, I think, for the use of my safe house. The heat helps.” There’s a pause, then he adds, “You should join me.”

“Hilarious.”

“I mean it. You’re so close to syncope, and your head will crack open on the tile. It will be a mess.”

“I’m not going to faint,” you reply, but when you jerk your chin to look at anything but him, you see stars. “Oh, God.”

“I can assist, if you’ll let me,” Zemo tells you, and even though he doesn’t move an inch, you feel like he’s got a rope around you, drawing you closer and closer. His head tilts, his gaze brazenly roaming up and down the entire length of your body. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. You’re a trained agent - a secret operative. Yes?”

“Yes,” you croak. If you move, you’re afraid your knees might buckle. You shouldn’t have agreed to stay here to watch him alone. You really aren’t in any shape for it. Maybe if you breathe through your nose… But the steamy bathroom just smells like Zemo. Cologne, soap - whatever it is, it’s intoxicating. 

“You’ve studied anatomy and at least a bit of first aid, you’ve been in locker rooms, shared close quarters with some of Earth’s mightiest heroes,” Zemo continues.  “You even did a short observation period with a forensic pathologist you met in the field in Fortaleza, so I imagine you’ve seen the human form at its best and worst—”

“How did you know that?”

The interruption seems to surprise him. “It’s in your records, of course.”

“A mention, maybe, buried in pages and pages of everything else.”

“Hmm. I am very thorough.” He still looks comfortable, still smug, and you’re angry at him, and you’re even angrier at yourself. The bombs went off, and you went running straight to him, you kissed him, and now he knows, and you’re so freaking tired you could cry, and your one task right now is to keep Baron Helmut Zemo under control in his own damned safe house—

“Hey,” he says softly, moving forward in the tub until his arms rest on the side nearest you. You entertain brief notions of him as a merman. “I have a confession.”

“What’s that?”

Zemo sighs and offers an apologetic half-smile. “I have a gun.”

“What?” you cry. “But… you’re nak—”

“It is my house,” he says, and before you can respond, his hand darts under the lip of the tub edge. The derringer aimed at your chest is almost deceptively small. “So, you see,” he continues, carefully unchambering the rounds and setting it on the snack tray beside him, “I could have escaped.” His chin rests back on his arms. “Or, at least, I could’ve attempted it.”

Your hand moves to your hip, to your own gun, but you leave it there. The extra rush of adrenaline is not helping you feel any less faint.

He holds out a hand. “Come here. Rest. You’ve earned it. I will stay.”

You can’t really be considering it. 

You are considering it. He looks so damned comfortable; you wouldn’t mind feeling nice and warm and comfortable for a little while, too. Besides, nobody else is around. You’ve been left behind with Zemo and only Zemo for company, and at least he seems like he’d rather not see you faceplant on his pretty tile floor. It’s no different than if you were hiding out in a grotto somewhere, you reason, or staying in a safe house with a swimming pool. People do swim naked. Not you, usually, but some people do. That can be your defense if you ever get interrogated over the very big mistake you’re about to make.

“Promise you aren’t going to lull me into a false sense of security and then escape?”

He has the audacity to smirk. “Until the rest of our lovely little team returns, yes. I promise.”

Screw it. You’re not in the shape to wrestle with any more moral quandaries at the moment. You leave your weapons by the sink, because you don’t exactly want to put even more guns within his reach, even if you’re making the stupid decision to trust him. You shimmy out of your pants, revealing worse discoloration than you’d expected along your hip and thigh, then discard your shirt. You’re doing your best to make this efficient, impersonal. It’s basically like a public sauna. You can’t let the fact that you’ve kissed him - that he knows he’s under your skin - have any effect on you.

Zemo takes your hand and helps you clamber into the tub. The water is so hot that you hiss. Being scalded helps to distract from the amused look on Zemo’s face as he takes in your still-present underwear, but mercifully, he makes no comment. “Better, isn’t it?” he says.

“How is it this hot?”

“Vintage aesthetic, modern improvements.” He leans back again, and you fight the urge to glance down. He’d never let you forget a slip-up like that. 

And he’s still holding your hand. 

He turns it, examining your wrist. His thumb smoothes over a scrape on your palm. Zemo frowns. “You should have told them to patch you up before they left.”

“Time isn’t a luxury we have at the moment, Baron.”

“You should also wear gloves.”

“Noted.” You can’t deny that his eyes are beautiful, and behind the teasing, there’s a solemn depth that draws you in deeper. Common sense and anything resembling ‘protocol’ demands that you snatch your hand away. It’s too much. “The heat does help.”

“Turn around,” he says.

“Why?”

His head inclines, and you think he might be stifling a laugh. Maybe your voice got a little too high-pitched. “So you won’t have to keep stopping yourself from staring at me, for one. You are also occupying most of my leg room.”

Those are good enough excuses, you decide, or at least you can pretend that they are. You turn carefully, trying not to displace any more water. Your heart is in your throat. It’s probably from the post-adrenaline crash. The ambush. The exhaustion. When his arm wraps around your shoulders, drawing you to lean back against his chest, you tremble. Maybe it was a ruse.

Zemo’s arm doesn’t tighten across your windpipe, though. He doesn’t push you under the water and hold you there, doesn’t hold the derringer to your temple and demand that you help him escape. You blink back a tear. Maybe you weren’t afraid that it was a ruse, after all. Maybe it’s more frightening to imagine that it’s genuine, that someone on this godforsaken planet genuinely cares. That someone notices.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, his cheek resting against your hair. “I won’t tell. It can be our secret.”

His thumb rubs soft circles on your shoulder, but the rest of him is as still as stone. You blink furiously. You aren’t going to cry. “It’s not that.”

“It isn’t?”

“No,” you reply. “Well, yes, a little. Anyone finding out that you’ve held me in a bathtub would probably ruin what little hopes for a career I have left, but… I’m just so tired.” Frustrated, you squeeze your eyes closed. You aren’t going to cry. “Everything hurts, and I’m so tired.”

“It’s alright,” Zemo says again. You feel his breath tickling your ear. “Villains can be tired. Heroes can be tired, too.”

Your eyes stay closed. His chest rises and falls, his thumb circles your shoulder, and you feel like your lungs begin to fill again. “I thought I kissed you,” you whisper.

“What’s that?”

You bite your lip. Should you even say it? Probably not. “You said that I kissed you back,” you tell him, “like you were the one who started it, but… I thought… I mean, when I grabbed your coat, I was going—”

“Oh,” Zemo says. 

You think you hear a note of surprise in his voice, and maybe pleasure, but it’s muted and sleepy. You decide to put a pin in that for later. You stretch your legs; they touch the far side of the tub, and Zemo makes an admittedly comfortable backrest. You figure you probably won’t slip under the water if you fall asleep. You have a feeling, however foolish and overly-trusting it might be, that he wouldn’t let anything like that happen. He seems to know what he’s doing, and he said it’s okay if you relax. Rest. 

You can rest.

* * *