#alpha!zemo

It had started with a phone call.

You didn’t even know that Sam Wilson still had your phone number until he called. He was lucky to have caught you in one of the rare moments you weren’t knees deep in a mission, tracking down whatever target you were after.

“What?” You answered bluntly as you held the phone to your ear.

“Is that how you talk to the guy who kept you out of prison?” Sam’s voice called through the speaker and you rolled your eyes.

“I would have broken out of whatever hole they stuck me in,” You stated simply, leaning against the wall of the shitty, run down hotel you were staying in.

Sam chuckled, “You probably would have,”

“What do you want, Sam?”

There’s a moment of silence followed by a sigh. You can hear the frustration through the phone before he’s even said anything, meaning this is something serious. Serious enough for him to call you, of all people.

“I need your help,” Sam explained, “Bucky decided to help a psychopath break out of prison,”

“What did you expect from the man who was The Winter Soldier?” You spoke sharply.

“Well,” Sam huffed, “We kinda need this psychopath,”

You pursed your lips, “And I come in, how?”

“I figured I’d fight fire with fire,” Sam stated, voice firm, “I need you to keep an eye on him with us,”

That was how you ended up in a safe house, facing off with Baron Zemo. The moment you arrived, both Bucky and Sam were having their usual bickering session, which made you roll your eyes as you stared at the man.

“You called her in?!”

“If anyone is going to control Zemo, it’s her!”

“She tried to kill Steve!”

“So did you!”

You had heard of Baron Zemo but this was the first time you were meeting him in person. He smelt like something expensive but also tainted. Your expertise lay in scent tracking, something that not a lot of people had these days.

It made you dangerous against alphas.

Zemo’s scent is rich, refined and you find yourself subtly intoxicated by it. It’s a mix of spiced cedarwood, worn leather and dark amber with a faint trace of bergamot and smoky vanilla.

It’s a scent that lingers but doesn’t command attention- because his presence does that effortlessly.

"You reek of grief,” Zemo finally said, his voice smooth yet laced with something unreadable.

Sam and Bucky are pulled out of their bickering when you pull a gun, shooting it at Zemo. Bucky flinched while Sam yelled, Zemo standing there with a smirk on his lips.

The bullet hadn’t hit him but was instead was embedded into the wall next to his head.

“Takes one to know one,” You bit back.

At that, his eyes turn sharp and assessing before it flickered away. You could smell it in his scent, the way it spiked to something more smoky before it fainted away.

“Ah, a kindred spirit then,” He chuckled, “You missed,”

You didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger again, a loud ‘ping’ and metal scrapping against metal filled the room. Zemo turned his head, finding the bullet in the exact same spot as the first one.

His scent flared again, this time an air of impressiveness and attraction? It caught you off guard for a split second.

“I don’t miss,”

“Can we put the gun away?” Sam asked loudly, he stepped in front of you making you put the weapon back on your hip, “Thank you,”

“You really think we can trust her?” Bucky had spoken up, clearly annoyed with the whole situation.

You scoffed, eyes rolling as you took a seat on the couch. But it didn’t mean your guard was down.

“Right,” Sam spoke, “We are going out, you..,”

Sam looked at you as you looked back at him.

“Play nice,”

When Sam and Bucky left, that’s when the connection came to life.

Zemo had analyzed you, like you had done with him. He noticed the way you sat, your scent so well hidden, your heartbeat steady and how you positioned yourself out of arms reach of anyone.

“Sam trusts you to keep an eye on me?” Zemo asked, arching an eyebrow, “How.. bold of him.”

You scoffed, “He trusts me to put you down if you step out of line,”

Zemo had chuckled, low and dry, “Oh. I like you already,”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t deny the way his scent curled around you- something dark, expensive, and laced with grief so similar to your own. It was maddening, the way your omega instincts stirred at the presence of this alpha.

He turned his head slightly, watching you with an interest that was piqued and unwavering.

“How long do you intend to sit there?” Zemo questioned, a slight amusement in his tone.

“Long enough to know if I have to kill you,” you replied, voice sharp but almost teasing.

He hummed softly, a sound of intrigue. “Do you find it difficult? Being surrounded by alphas?”

You laughed, bitterly. “No more than they find it being around me.”

His gaze lingered on you, searching. “Did you know there was a time when alphas like us ruled with fear?”

You tilted your head, meeting his eyes squarely. “Is that what this is? You trying to scare me?”

“No.” Zemo smiled faintly. “It’s quite the opposite.”

His honesty was disarming. You fell silent, wrestling internally with instincts that were screaming at you to close the distance between yourself and him. Zemo sat on the opposite couch, his scent closer, more distinguished as he spoke.

“An alpha is only strong with an omega,” He spoke proudly, “And an omega is only protected with an alpha, Contrary to popular belief, the two need each other in order to survive, keeps the instincts from consuming the mind,”

“I survive just fine,” You spat.

Zemo leaned forward slightly, tilting his head, “Tell me, Omega..do you ever wake up expecting to find them beside you, only to be met with cold sheets and an emptiness that never quite fades?”

The words sent a sharp pang through your chest. You swallowed, looking away but he didn’t need you to talk to answer him.

“Then perhaps you understand me better than most,” Zemo hummed, his gaze unreadable.

You hated this. The way he made you feel unnerved, because he was someone that understood you. Because mates died with each other, bond mates didn’t survive if the other wasn’t living.

Your gaze wandered to the dark, jagged scar etched across the side of his neck. The mark, with its uneven edges and slightly raised texture was black, representing that the person who put it there was no longer living.

It reflected your own.

The cat and mouse game continued for the rest of your time in Latvia, surrounded by the rich scent that was Baron Zemo. You were used to scents, you had smelt a lot of alphas in your time, tracked them down, killed them.

But nothing affected you like his did.

His scent put you on edge, they way it made you calm down when the battles were tough and you were faced with a strong opponent. The flag smashers weren’t anything you couldn’t deal with, but your omega instincts still lingered in the back of your mind despite anything you did.

Yet Zemo’s scent, the strong cedarwood and worn leather wrapped around a part of yourself you didn’t believe exist anymore.

It all came crashing down when you met Zemo in front of the Sokovia Tribute.

This was the mission, you reminded yourself. You were to ensure Zemo be handed over to the authorities or put him down with a bullet. Soon, the Dora Milaje would come, with Bucky, and they would drag him to whatever cage awaited him.

And you? You’d continue on, like you always did, finding another mission, finding another person to hunt down and turn over or kill.

Zemo stood in front of the statue, his hands clasped behind his back in that way of his- controlled, unreadable. He always held himself like he was two steps ahead of everyone, like he had already anticipated what was coming next. But he turned towards you, with something in his gaze.

Something like uncertainty.

“This is the end, then,” He murmured.

It should have been. You should have walked away, said something sharp, something final. But you didn’t.

For once, you didn’t stand out of arms reach. Zemo’s scent was making your guards fall and you couldn’t control it. Because his instincts called to your own, whether you controlled it or not. The strange pull- the one you had been ignoring the entire mission - it remained.

It was unnatural. It was wrong. Your instincts had died when your mate did and so did his. You both had bonds once cherished, now severed, leaving you both hollow, broken things.

“Why do you look at me like that?” Zemo’s voice was soft, for once, the cunning tone gone.

“Like what?”

“Like you feel it too?”

You exhaled sharply. “There’s nothing to feel.”

A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Lying doesn’t suit you, Omega,”

You should have left. Should have walked away, turned your back and ignored everything that was coming to life in that moment. Because it felt like a charged, crackling wire.

Zemo took a step forward, closing the space between you both. He wasn’t touching you, not yet, but his presence was overwhelming. And then- so softly it was barely a whisper - he asked.

“Would you let me kiss you?”

You didn’t answer. Not with words.

Your hands could his collar, fisting the fabric, pulling him down just as you rose to your toes and then-

Your lips met.

The moment they did, it felt peaceful and the electricity you felt had suddenly calmed, thrumming between you both. Something dormat had awoken in that moment. Overwhelming. Suffocating. Real.

You pulled away first, breathless. For the first time you met him, Zemo looked genuinely stunned. His pupils were blown wide, his scent thick with something bordering on disbelief.

“..Well.” His voice was hoarse, “That was unexpected,”

You swallowed hard and took a step back, regaining your composure. This wasn’t allowed, the moment should not have happened in your mind.

“You are the first person I have kissed since my omega died..,” He confessed.

The lump in your throat was swallowed down, a lie leaving your lips, “It’s just our instincts reacting to each other, you haven’t been near an omega since that moment and I just did you a favor since you asked so nicely,”

Zemo exhaled, his hand lifted to try and touch you. But at the sound of footsteps, his fingers curled shit into a fist and he took a step back.

Bucky and the Dora Milaje had arrived. Which meant your mission and your time with Zemo was done.

“It seems I must thank you for such a kind farewell, then.” The cunning had returned to his voice, along with an edge of something else. Something that almost sounded like regret.

Ayo gestured sharply at Zemo, and the Dora Milaje surrounded him, efficient and determined. Your gaze followed as they led him away, every step taking that intoxicating scent further from you.

You should have felt relief. You should have been glad it was over. But instead, there was an ache that gnawed at the edges of your mind, a hollowness that hadn’t been there since your own mate had died.

Bucky’s voice pulled you back.

“You alright?” he asked, watching you carefully.

You snapped back to that emotionless person you always had to be and nodded. “It’s done,” you said flatly.

He studied you for a moment longer, like he didn’t quite believe you but wasn’t going to push it. “We’ll be stateside by morning,”

“You’ll be stateside,” You spoke firmly, adjusting your weapons, “Just tell Sam to wire me the rest of the money,”

With that, you walked off.

Two years passed, of you throwing yourself into work. You hunted down men, alphas, enhanced individuals or anyone that had been involved in Hydra. You were finishing up a mission in Italy when Sam called you, your ringtone of ‘Dynamite’ by BTS blaring in the air as you held a gun to a man’s head.

The call came through, and you ignored it at first. The guy tied to the chair had whimpered, begged and pleaded as you held the barrel of the gun to his temple.

“Tell me who you were selling them to,” You snarled.

He whimpered and pleaded again, you were about to punch him when the ringtone cut through the air again, vibrating annoyingly in your pocket. You shot the man in the shoulder, just enough to make him think twice before running.

“Can I help you?” You snapped into the phone.

“Two years, no goodbye and this is the hello I get?” Sam joked through the phone, “Harsh,”

“I’m working,” You hissed.

“And I got work for you,”

Before you could respond, the man in the chair whimpered again before yelling out. In a second, you pointed the gun at his head and pulled the trigger.

“Did you just shot someone?”

“He was a human trafficker, he sold young omegas and I mean, young,”

Sam replied after a pause. “Listen, we need you in New York. I’ll pay you double,”

“Triple or I’m not interested,” You said shortly.

“I’ll wire it tonight,” Sam sighed. “But this is a big one, alright?”

You rolled your eyes. It was always a big one when it came to Sam. But if it didn’t include fighting aliens then you didn’t class it as a big one.

“I’ll be there soon,”

New York wasn’t your favourite place to be. Too many people, too many arrogant alphas who thought they ruled the streets.

Avengers tower stood tall, as it always did, like beacon and warning all in one. You just slumped against the elevator as it rode up the floors, looking as the numbers lit up. It reminded you of the happier days, when you’d joke around with your fellow agents on the way back from your missions.

The floor you stopped on wasn’t marked on the elevator, the doors slowly opening before you stepped out. It was the hidden floor of the tower, only the heroes and yourself knew about it. The Avengers darker side, their team of mismatched anti-heroes for the more cruel missions.

The Thunderbolts.

Sam was waiting.

“This is what your paying me for?” You asked.

“I’m not actually the one paying you,” Sam stated, “I just got you here,”

You narrowed your eyes at the Falcon as he lead you into a well lit briefing room. The moment you stepped into the room, you smelt him. The same sharp, undeniable awareness that haunted you since Latvia.

You had spent those two years forgetting about. Burying the way your body had reacted to Zemo, how your instincts, long thought dead, had stirred the moment his lips touched yours. You had spent the time convincing yourself it was nothing but a mistake, a fleeting consequence of fried and circumstance.

But the second you saw him again, standing at the head of the table, dressed in all black with his signature coat draped over his shoulders, your body ignited.

Zemo looked just as he had back then- poised, unreadable, a ghost of amusement dancing in his eyes. But this time, there was something different. This time, he had expected you.

“Ah,” Zemo mused, head tilted as his gaze raked over you, “So they finally convinced you,”

“They didn’t convince me, they paid me,”

He chuckled, slow and rick. “Of course,”

You had known what they were getting Zemo to do. He was the perfect person to lead the darker extension of what heroes liked to pretend didn’t exist. It was a condition of his release from the raft.

You folded your arms, ignoring the way his scent, spiced cedarwood and worn leather, wrapped around your nose, “So, what? Can’t get any of your little team of misfits to do something?”

“I like to think of myself as a fair boss,” Zemo chuckled and you ignored the way it made your body shiver, “Yelena and her father have gone on little family vacation, the others are on their own missions elsewhere,”

“And The Winter Soldier?” You quipped.

Sam answered your question, “He’s expecting a pup any day now,”

Your brow raised, “A pup?”

“Yeah,” Sam grinned. “Fatherhood’s mellowed him out. It’s weird.”

The idea of Bucky as a doting parent was something you couldn’t quite picture, but it wasn’t relevant now. Not with Zemo looking at you the way he was, like he could see past every wall you built, every lie you told yourself in the last two years.

“What is this job?”

Zemo gestured towards the table, scattered with maps and intel. He spoke, his voice low and smooth.

“It requires finesse,” he said, moving closer than he needed to, spreading his scent further; it was intoxicating and infuriating how much it affected you.

“They usually do when you’re involved,” You stated flatly.

He smirked, a slight tilt of his head acknowledging your point. “A group of radicals in Symkaria have uncovered some Hydra technology,” Zemo explained. “They’ve been capturing and experimenting on omegas,”

Your scent soured, followed by you picking up the file and briefly flicking through it. Maybe this was a big one, you had been tracking down omega traffickers for the last six months, this could be what they had all been selling to.

“I see you are interested,” Zemo said, watching you carefully.

“Don’t push it,” You answered.

“Then you’ll work the job?” Sam asked, a hopeful edge to his voice.

You shrugged, but your resolve was already slipping. “I’ll work it,”

Zemo’s eyes lingered on you, satisfied. He leaned against the table, his expression thoughtful. “We leave tomorrow,” he said, “After we gather some additional resources.”

You nodded once and turned to leave before either of them saw how affected you were. Before they could see the conflict tugging at your emotions.

But Zemo called after you. “Oh, and one more thing,”

You paused, dread mixing with the adrenaline in your veins as you glanced back.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said simply, that ghost of amusement ever-present in his eyes.

You didn’t have a response for that, as a new scent invaded your senses. It was a scent of roses mixed with rain, with the very lingering scent of crisp linen on top of it. It was coming behind you, making you quickly pull the gun from your side and pointed it at the person who had just walked in.

The omega at the door screamed, dropped the papers in their hands before letting out a string of curse words in Spanish. You raised an eyebrow, staring at the young omega. She looked oddly familiar.

“Can we not point guns at Jordi?!” Sam shouted out, grabbing the weapon in your hand, “She’s the Thunderbolts doctor and weapons expert,”

Jordi.

You knew her.

“Holy Shit,” Despite a gun being pointed in her direction a moment ago, a smile cracked onto her features, “It’s you! You worked with my dad!”

“I also put your father in jail,”

Jordi waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, well, he wasn’t a great guy,”

You lowered your gun, feeling the weight of memories pressing in. Jordi had been barely ten when you last her, a tiny kid genuis who rushed around her father’s lab, a blur of energy and wild ideas.

Zemo’s voice cut through the moment. “She’s quite indispensable,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“Don’t be too mean to her,” Sam said with a sigh, “She’s going to be working closely with you and Zemo on this one.”

You put the gun back into its holster before turning away from them all. “I’m going to regret this,”

“Probably,” Jordi replied with a shrug, “But it means I get to see your work first hand,”

Your eyes flicked back to Zemo briefly. His expression was still amused, you hated how much he enjoyed this.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” You huffed, turning and marching out of the room.

You had to get away from Zemo.

—

But your problems didn’t stop there.

Because twelve hours later, you were stuck on a private jet with no-one other than Helmut Zemo.

He sat across from you, completely calm as the plane cut through the sky. Your foot tapped nervously, even though you tried to appear just as composed.

“Care for something to drink?” he asked, already pouring champagne into a glass, the bubbles rising in a delicate swirl.

“No.”

Zemo laughed softly. “Still so serious,” he said, handing you the glass anyway.

You took it because refusing felt like a win for him, and you couldn’t allow that. “Where’s your little protégé?”

“Jordi will be helping us remotely,” he replied. “She’s not someone who goes into the field. Not to say she can’t defend herself.”

There was a lure to his words, an invitation for you to ask more questions, but you didn’t take it. You stared out the window instead, watching clouds blur past, clinging to this small piece of distance between you.

Zemo leaned back, his eyes never leaving your face. “You always did prefer working alone,”

“The last time I worked with a team, half of them turned out to be undercover hydra agents,” You slumped in your seat further, eyes locked onto the champange glass.

“Ah, SHIELD’s kill squad for enhanced individuals,”

You didn’t look at him, but you didn’t correct him, either.

“They were very brutal,” Zemo continued, “I was almost impressed.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. “You would be.”

“And your mate had been one of them,”

You slammed the glass onto the stupid little table beside the the chair, eyes narrowed as you glared at Zemo.

“He was not a hydra agent,”

“I didn’t say he was,”

The hint of a smile on Zemo’s lips told you he knew exactly what he was doing. He always did. You forced yourself to look away, clenching your hands to stop the tremor that had started.

“What is this, Zemo?” you snapped. “A reunion tour? I’m not interested in reliving the greatest hits.”

His expression softened, an uncharacteristic moment of sincerity breaking through. “We have more in common than you admit,” Zemo said, his voice low and knowing.

You hated that he might be right.

You felt his eyes on you, reading every twitch of muscle, every flicker of emotion, and it left you feeling raw and exposed. You needed to focus elsewhere before he dug any deeper.

“Tell me more about these traffickers,” you demanded, steering the subject back to the job. “What do we know about them?”

Zemo paused for a moment, as if deciding whether to let you change the topic so easily. But he allowed it, going on about the targets you would hunting down and the intel they had received. Keeping it professional helped you stay focused on something other than his scent, which was swarming around you.

—-

You had grown used to being in the guts of countries, deep in holes that no one ever climbed out of. Symkaria was a breeding ground of filth, lies and crime. The air in the country was sharp, carrying the scent of damp stone and distant gunpowder. At the center of all the corruption and crime, you knew something foul was festering.

The little base that you and Zemo infiltrated was run down, one of the Starks old weapon warehouses that no longer worked. But the men around the place, you had seen it all before. Alphas and betas who profited from selling omegas, taking their rights and erasing their autonomy. The worst part was half the time they were sold to rich, government officials who wanted a trophy.

You reminded yourself that’s why you were here, everytime Zemo’s rich scent invaded your senses.

It was the worst part of the operation.

You were surrounded by it—rich and dark, a scent of spiced cedarwood with hints of smoky vanilla and something warm. Something that made your instincts stir, a deep ache blooming in your chest.

You clenched your jaw, forcing the feeling down.

Zemo suddenly stopped, his hand coming up in a silent signal. You halted beside him, peering around the corner.

Two guards. Armed. Chatting casually in Symkarian.

Zemo glanced at you, amusement flickering in his sharp eyes. “Shall we?”

You rolled your shoulders, gripping your knife. “Try to keep up, Baron.”

You moved first—swift, silent. Your knife slid through the first man’s throat before he even registered the attack. Blood spurted as you twisted the blade free. The second man had just enough time to reach for his gun before Zemo was there, snapping his neck in a clean, practiced motion.

The bodies hit the ground almost at the same time.

Zemo exhaled, shaking out his wrist. “Efficient as ever.”

You wiped your blade against your pants. “Don’t sound so impressed.”

“On the contrary,” he murmured, stepping closer—too close. His voice dropped lower, smoother. “I have always found competence… very attractive.”

Heat prickled up your spine.

You forced yourself to scoff, turning away. “Keep your focus, Zemo.”

He chuckled, a sound that tangled around your resolve, but he didn’t press further.

You cleared the rest of the compound in record time, the two of you moving as if you’d never stopped. You hated how effortless it felt. How natural. By the time you reached what passed for an office, you were breathing hard but steady, adrenaline singing through your veins.

Zemo rifled through papers while you tapped at a decrepit computer terminal.

“Can she get anything off this?” You glared at the screen, skeptical.

“She’s quite resourceful,” Zemo replied, pulling out his phone. “Jordi, we’ve located a terminal.”

The line crackled, and then Jordi’s voice came through clear and bright. “Is it a hunk of junk? I bet it’s a hunk of junk. Don’t worry—just plug in and give me three minutes.”

You connected her to the system and backed away, feeling restless as you watched the computer screen. They weren’t keeping the omegas here but something in these files would point you in the right direction.

Zemo’s eyes were on you but you kept your focus on the computer, watching as Jordi hacked into the system. When a hand touched your cheek, you stepped back quickly, knife at the ready.

“Blood,” Zemo chuckled as he held up his gloved hand.

You hadn’t realized some of it had spattered across your face.

“Thanks,” you muttered, swiping at the spot with your sleeve.

Jordi’s voice crackled over the phone, “Uh, tiny problem,”

“What is it?” Zemo asked, oddly gentle in his approach to Jordi.

“They’ve got some hard encryptions on this stuff, it’s going to take me a while to get through it,” She explained, “Think you two can lay low for the night until I hack it?”

“Do we have a choice?” You asked sharply, not happy with the delay.

“Not if you want locations,” Jordi replied. “And I know you do.”

You shot Zemo a glare. If there was anyone you hated dealing with more than him, it was his smart-mouth hacker. “Fine.”

“We appreciate your skill,” Zemo said smoothly.

“Just watch your backs out there, alright? And tell her I expect a thank-you gif when this is all done.”

The line cut out before you could respond.

Zemo set the phone down and moved closer. “I have a penthouse nearby,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “We can stay there and wait for Jordi to make progress.”

You didn’t argue, though every step out of the warehouse felt like another surrender. You told yourself it was only temporary. Just until you had enough intel to move on.

The drive to the penthouse was mercifully short.

The apartment was luxurious in the way only old money could afford—high ceilings, dark wooden floors, and a fireplace crackling softly in the corner. Heavy velvet drapes were drawn over the windows, shutting out the noise of Symkaria’s restless streets.

Zemo poured himself a glass of whiskey from the bar in the corner, his movements slow, unhurried. You, on the other hand, were tense as hell.

The mission was on hold for now. The encrypted files you’d stolen from the trafficking ring’s server were being decoded, but it would take time—too much time. You hated waiting. It made your instincts restless, clawing at the edges of your control.

And then there was the bed.

Just one.

You had noticed it the moment Zemo led you inside. The massive four-poster bed took up the center of the room, draped in dark sheets that looked entirely too inviting. There was no couch. No spare mattress.

You weren’t an idiot. You knew what this meant.

Zemo took a slow sip of whiskey, watching you over the rim of his glass. His scent was there—rich, dark, unmistakable. You had been trained to be in tune to an alphas scent, which was now making your life harder than it needed to be. The warmth of leather, smokey vanilla, and something spiced curled around you, burrowing under your skin.

Your instincts shifted uneasily, confused. You weren’t supposed to react like this. Not anymore. Your mate had died. So had his.

But this bond— whatever the hell it was—refused to stay dead.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Zemo mused, setting his glass down. His sharp eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “Is something troubling you?”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall. “There’s only one bed.”

Zemo smiled. “Ah. Yes, I suppose there is.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You planned this.”

His lips twitched. “I would never be so manipulative.”

“You would and you are,” you shot back.

Zemo let out a low chuckle and stepped closer. Too close. The air between you grew thick, charged. His presence was warm, his scent brushing against your skin like a whisper of something forbidden.

Your body betrayed you—muscles tensing, breath hitching. Your omega instincts stirred, restless and confused. You weren’t supposed to want. Not after everything.

But Zemo wasn’t backing away.

“If it truly bothers you,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk, “I will take the floor.”

You exhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “Good.”

He tilted his head, studying you like he could see through every wall you had put up.“Would you prefer that?”

The question shouldn’t have made your pulse spike. But it did.

Zemo had always been dangerous. But this? This was something else entirely.

You swallowed hard, turning away before he could see the answer in your face.

“I’ll take the bed,” you muttered, heading for the bathroom. “And lock the damn door behind you.”

Zemo only chuckled, and the sound followed you long after you shut the door.

You stayed under the hot spray of the shower for longer than you should have, skin flushed and raw. The water washed away grime and blood, but not the heat curling beneath your ribs. This was insane. A mistake. You shouldn’t be here, with him, and he shouldn’t have this much of an effect on you.

Not anymore.

You turned off the water, hissing as cool air touched your skin. You dried off quickly and pulled on a spare shirt from your bag. It hung loose over your frame, claiming too much space, too much air. You shouldered the bathroom door open, half-expecting to find Zemo already in bed, smirking at your discomfort.

The room was empty.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. He had actually listened for once. Maybe he had taken pity on you—or maybe it was all part of his game.

The thought settled heavily in your chest as you climbed onto the bed. The sheets were softer than anything you had ever slept on, no doubt a reflection of Zemo’s wealth. Thankfully, the sheets didn’t smell like him, instead they smelt clean.

Sleep comes easier than you thought it would.

The pain started as a dull ache in your lower stomach, a vague discomfort that you tried to ignore. But as the night wore on, it grew sharper, twisting through your insides like a knife. A cold sweat clung to your skin, and your limbs felt heavy, wrong.

You curled on your side, clutching your stomach. Not now. Not here.

The suppressants always worked. You took them religiously, never missing a dose. But sometimes your body fought back, for brief periods of time.

You bit down a groan, forcing yourself to breathe through the pain. You just had to ride it out.

A sharp knock at the door made you tense.

“Liebling?” Zemo’s voice was smooth, but there was something careful in his tone. Too careful. “I heard you moving.”

Shit. Had you made a noise?

“I’m fine,” you gritted out. “Go back to sleep.”

Silence. Then—

The door opened.

You should have locked it.

Zemo stepped inside, his silhouette dark against the dim glow of the city lights seeping through the curtains. He was barefoot, his dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat. His scent hit you like a physical force—leather, whiskey, warmth. It curled around your senses, sending a ripple of something dangerous through your veins.

His gaze landed on you—curled in on yourself, trembling—and something shifted in his expression.

“Schatz,” he murmured, softer now. “What’s wrong?”

You clenched your jaw, willing your body to stop shaking. “Nothing.”

He exhaled, stepping closer.

You tried to sit up, but the motion sent a fresh wave of pain rolling through you. A strangled sound tore from your throat before you could swallow it down.

Zemo was at your side in an instant.

“Don’t—” You started, but his hand was already pressing against your forehead. His touch was warm, firm.

Grounding.

His eyes narrowed. “You’re burning up.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Zemo ignored you, his gaze flickering over you with calculated precision. Assessing.

“This isn’t a fever.” His lips pressed together, thoughts clicking into place. “You’re suppressing something, aren’t you?”

You stilled.

His eyes darkened. “Your heat.”

A rush of humiliation burned through you.

You shoved his hand away, forcing yourself to sit up. “Don’t,” you snapped.

Zemo didn’t move back. He just watched you, gaze unreadable.

“I take suppressants,” you admitted, voice tight. “Medically. Regularly. I don’t have heats.”

His brow furrowed. “Clearly, that is not entirely true.”

You swallowed, looking away. “Sometimes this happens, it’s a s-side affect. I just have to wait for it to go away.”

Zemo was silent for a long moment. Then—

“How long?”

You hesitated.

“How long have you been suppressing it?”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “Since my mate died.”

The words settled between you, heavy with something unspoken.

Zemo’s jaw tightened, and his gaze flickered—just for a second—with something you couldn’t name.

Then he let out a breath, his posture shifting. Less rigid. Less guarded.

“Suppressing it for this long—it isn’t natural.”

A bitter laugh escaped you. “Neither is living after your mate dies.”

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. A shadow. Understanding.

He reached out then, slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted to. When you didn’t, his hand pressed lightly against your wrist.

His touch was warm. Steady. Unwavering.

“I won’t insult you by pretending I know what’s best for you,” he said, voice low. “But if you continue like this, it will only get worse.”

You swallowed, but you didn’t pull away.

Your body still ached, muscles tight and unyielding. But the pressure inside you— the gnawing, twisting pain—seemed to ease just slightly with his presence.

That was dangerous.

You met his gaze. “This doesn’t change anything.”

His lips curled—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile.

“Of course not.”

Neither of you moved.

You should have pulled away. You should have told him to leave.

But you didn’t.

And Zemo didn’t push.

Slowly, hesitantly, you leaned against his body.

His scent washed over you, and the pain ebbed to a dull thrum.

You could feel him breathe, each rise and fall of his chest against yours matched with your own. Your instincts unfurled, craving more—more warmth, more touch, more of the connection he offered without words.

He was quiet for a long time, as if he knew speaking would break whatever fragile truce lay between you. His hand rested on your back, light and reassuring. Unthreatening.

“Stubborn,” he murmured, almost affectionately.

You didn’t reply. Couldn’t. The fight was bleeding out of you, leaving behind something raw and vulnerable.

He let you rest against him, quiet and patient. You wanted to hate him for it.

Instead, you found yourself focusing on his heartbeat—a steady rhythm beneath the chaos of your own pulse. It was too comforting.

Your eyes stung, an unexpected surge of emotion pushing against the walls you had built so carefully. You had forgotten what this felt like—this terrifying vulnerability, this precarious comfort.

You closed your eyes against it all, exhaustion crashing over you like a wave.

“Sleep,” Zemo murmured.

As the pain ebbs away, you fall into a light sleep.

His scent lingered in the air like a promise. You drifted in and out, half-aware of Zemo’s warmth beside you. Each time you surfaced, he was there—silent, present. It should have scared you how easily your body accepted it, how naturally you surrendered to the calm he offered.

When you woke, morning light seeped through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold. Zemo was gone. The space where he had been was cool to the touch, but his scent still curled around you, too familiar now.

The ache in your stomach had dulled to a distant memory, and the tension in your muscles had eased completely. You sat up slowly, waiting for pain that didn’t come. It left you feeling hollow and relieved all at once.

You rubbed a hand over your face. This couldn’t happen again. You wouldn’t let it.

A tray sat on the nightstand: coffee steaming, toast perfectly golden but you choose to ignore it.

You stumbled out of the bedroom, body aching in your joints as you walk into the living area. Zemo is sat at the table, sipping his coffee and looking out the window as if he’s on a holiday, not a dangerous mission.

“You should rest more,” He stated, almost like he was demanding it.

“I’m fine,” You huffed you.

“At least eat something,” He gestured to his own plate, “Toast? Yogurt, perhaps?”

“I don’t really eat much,”

He looked displeased at this statement but doesn’t touch on it. You’re already pulling your weapons back into their designated places on your body, trying to ignore what had transpired last night.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

He looked up, an eyebrow arching. “For what?”

“For staying.”

Zemo set his coffee down, regarding you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “I told you before—a think of myself as a fair boss.”

You tensed, fingers fumbling over the buckle of your holster. The reminder was uncomfortable, a truth you weren’t ready to face.

“It’s not mutually beneficial if one of us is incapacitated,” Zemo continued, and there was a faint edge of amusement in his tone.

You bit back a retort. He was giving you an out, an easy way to sidestep the vulnerability you’d shown. You took it gratefully.

“Yeah, well.” You strapped on your last piece of gear. “You shouldn’t get used to it.”

His lips twitched. “Noted.”

Suddenly, his phone beeps and you look over. Zemo simply placed the device on the table before answering it.

“What’s cookin’, boss?” Jordi’s voice comes calling through the phone, “Sleep well?”

“You could say that,” Zemo smirked, “What do you have for us?”

Jordi goes on a ramble about the decryption, she’s talking fast and stumbling over a few words that makes you think she’s been up all night and pumped full of coffee. She explained that she managed to crack it and was sending the information to Zemo now.

“Good work, Jordi,” Zemo smiled, “Now, I have a medical question, if you don’t mind asking,”

“Uh,” Jordi sounded a little caught of guard, “Sure?”

“What would happen if someone was to suppress their heat for say..,” Zemo pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly before talking, “Almost ten years?”

There was silence on the other end. You held your breath.

“Yikes,” Jordi said finally, and you could practically see her wincing. “That’s… not great. They’d get really sick. Probably have breakthrough heats. It could kill them, honestly.”

You stiffened, your jaw clenching.

“Hm,” Zemo replied, and his eyes flicked to you, watching for your reaction.

“Someone in that situation really needs to be careful, y’know? Like super cautious,” Jordi continued, oblivious to the tension in the room. “And they should definitely stop suppressing.”

Zemo hummed again, “Thank you for your help, Jordi,”

The call disconnected.

The silence that followed was punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic outside.

“You needn’t look so smug,” you muttered.

“Smug?” He feigned innocence. “I am merely... informed.”

You glared at him but couldn’t hold it—your gaze dropped to your own phone. Jordi had also sent the information to your device, although you didn’t question how she managed to get your number.

From what you gathered, the headquarters of this operation was in Latvia.

Great. Fucking Latvia.

“Well,” Zemo chuckled, the amusement obvious in his tone, “Back to Latvia,”

—-

Latvia smelled the same.

The damp cobblestone streets, the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, the sharp bite of vodka spilled outside bars—it all hit you the moment you stepped off the plane. Unchanged. But you weren’t the same person who had left this place years ago.

And neither was Zemo.

He stood beside you, adjusting his leather gloves, his gaze cool and unreadable. He blended in with the crowd, dressed in a tailored coat and scarf, effortlessly slipping into the role of a man meant to be here. Meant to be anywhere.

You, on the other hand, felt like your skin was too tight.

“Welcome back,” Zemo murmured, voice smooth with something dangerously amused. “Feeling nostalgic?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

The two of you moved through the airport with ease, just another pair of travelers in a sea of faces. Your mission was simple—infiltrate the omega trafficking ring that had relocated to Latvia, identify the key players, and dismantle the operation from the inside.

It should have been easy.

Except for the fact that Zemo was an Alpha. Any other time, you would have posed as an omega sold, taken down the guards and released the omegas while taking down every piece of filth.

After the incident in Symkaria—after your body rebelled against the years of medical suppression— you weren’t sure where you were supposed to stand with Zemo. He was a powerful man with a powerful mind, both alluring and terrifying.

And yet, the moment you had to pretend—the moment Zemo pressed his palm against the small of your back as you passed through security, the warmth of his body bleeding into yours—it hit you like a live wire.

The bond inside you, the one you’d thought was gone, shook itself awake.

And the worst part?

It wasn’t just you.

You felt it in the way Zemo’s muscles tensed, the way his fingers flexed before pulling away. The way his scent—usually controlled, carefully masked beneath expensive cologne—deepened just slightly.

Dark, spiced cedarwood, the vanilla notes stronger now.

You clenched your jaw, forcing your body to ignore it. To ignore him.

This wasn’t about you. It wasn’t about Zemo.

It was about the omegas trapped in this operation, the ones who didn’t have a choice.

The two of you left the airport without another word, slipping into the waiting car that had been arranged under one of Zemo’s many aliases.

As the city blurred past the window, Zemo finally spoke.

“We will need to be convincing,” he said lightly, his voice giving nothing away. “A lone alpha will raise suspicions. But an alpha with an omega?” He smiled, turning his head toward you. “That is expected.”

You exhaled sharply. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

Zemo chuckled. “Not at all, liebling. But it is curious, is it not?” His gaze flickered over you, sharp and assessing. “How your instincts react to me.”

Your fingers curled into a fist.

He knew. Of course, he knew.

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“This is a mission,” you said coldly. “Nothing more.”

Zemo hummed, leaning back against the leather seat.

“Of course,” he murmured. “Nothing more.”

But the bond between you throbbed.

And you both knew it wasn’t that simple.

—-

The air inside the private auction house was thick with power—alphas. Dozens of them, their scents coiling through the dimly lit room like a noxious fog. It was overwhelming, even for someone like you, who had spent years dulling your omega instincts with suppressants and sheer willpower.

But nothing could prepare you for the way your instincts screamed when Zemo touched you.

His arm slid around your waist, pulling you against his side as you stepped further into the lavish, candlelit chamber. Every pair of predatory eyes in the room flickered toward you, assessing, judging.

Stay calm. Stay in control.

The omegas up for auction were displayed in open cages—dressed in silks, their eyes glazed from suppressants or conditioning. Some were defiant, their shackles rattling as they moved, while others were still, quiet, their faces carefully blank.

Your stomach twisted at the sight.

Zemo must have felt the way your body tensed because his grip on your waist tightened. “Careful, liebling,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your temple. “We cannot afford suspicion.”

You exhaled through your nose, pushing down the rising anger in your chest. You had to focus. Play your part.

Because you weren’t here to buy.

You were here to destroy this place from the inside out.

Zemo guided you toward the front of the room, where other alpha couples lounged on velvet seats, sipping aged whiskey and speaking in low, murmured tones.

The scent in the room was disgusting—possessive. Every alpha here was marking their territory, ensuring the other predators in the room knew exactly who belonged to whom.

Which meant…

You stiffened as Zemo leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“They expect submission,” he said smoothly. “You must let me hold you.”

You knew that. You had prepared for this.

And yet—

Your skin burned where his hand rested at your hip. Where his breath ghosted along your jaw. Where his presence surrounded you like something solid, something unshakable.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Not real.

Not like your body wanted it.

But the moment you hesitated, you felt the eyes of the room narrow on you. Alphas could smell uncertainty. Smell weakness.

So you did what you had to.

You let yourself lean into him.

You dropped your gaze, tilting your head slightly—offering your throat, just enough—and felt the deep rumble of Zemo’s approval vibrate through his chest.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped.

The seats of these places were designed to reflect the power alphas had. They had a step in front of them, where you had to sit, knelt in front of Zemo. He settled into the velvet, exuding the controlled confidence he wore like a second skin.

“Comfortable?” You muttered bitterly.

Zemo’s chuckle was nearly drowned out by the auction beginning, a man on the stage talking but you drowned out his words. You had a mission, you needed to get to the main officer, find the ledger and any other information you could. The authorities had already been made aware and would be back the moment you gave the signal.

His hand snaked down your shoulder and back, finally landing on your waist, resting there. You involuntarily shivered. You tried to remind yourself that it was just apart of the mission, to show dominance amongst the scum but you couldn’t deny the way it made your legs quiver.

Zemo's grip on your waist subtly loosened. His fingers brushed against the small device hidden beneath the folds of your dress—a silent signal.

Now.

With practiced ease, you shifted away from him, your movements fluid, graceful, unremarkable in a room full of alphas far more interested in the display of bound omegas than one quietly slipping away.

Zemo played his role well. He remained seated, his expression one of mild disinterest as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass, looking every bit the bored aristocrat. But you knew better.

He was watching.

Always watching.

You made your way through the shadowed corridors of the auction house, moving quickly but carefully. The blueprint Jordi had provided was burned into your mind, each turn and doorway mapped out with precision.

The main office was your target.

You reached the heavy door at the end of the hallway and slipped inside, moving straight to the desk. A sleek black computer sat at the center, its screen locked behind layers of encryption.

You pulled out a small drive and interest it into the port. Jordi had given you this device specifically for this mission It would work fast, cracking the security while downloading everything onto an external server.

Before the progress bar could even reach 10%, the air shifted.

You smelt it. The stench of an alpha, only there was hint of something chemical, meaning that whoever this person was, they were enhanced in some way.

You turned, just in time for a fist to connect with your ribs, sending you crashing into the desk. The sharp edge bit into your side, pain blooming across your torso as you gasped for breath.

Your attacker was huge.

Not just tall—muscular, built.

The way he moved, the sheer force behind his strike—it was obvious. You’d fought enough enhanced soldiers to recognize the telltale signs.

A super soldier.

Great, the last thing you needed was to be going up against another Captain America rip off.

"Shouldn’t have come here, little omega," the man rumbled, his voice thick with amusement as he cracked his knuckles. "You really thought you could sneak in and walk out alive?"

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you wiped the blood from your lip and shifted into a defensive stance, steadying your breathing.

Because you weren’t dead yet.

And if this bastard thought you were going down easy—

He was about to be very disappointed.

The super soldier lunged at you.

You barely dodged, twisting to the side as his fist shattered the desk where you’d been standing a second ago. Splinters of wood exploded outward, but you didn’t flinch.

Keep moving.

Your training kicked in—muscle memory taking over as you pivoted on your heel, using the momentum to drive your elbow into his ribs. He barely reacted, but you weren’t expecting him to.

Super soldiers take more than brute force.

His next swing came fast, but you were faster. You ducked, sliding beneath his arm and striking out with a sharp kick to the back of his knee. It buckled, just slightly—enough for you to grab the knife from your thigh holster and drive it toward his neck.

He caught your wrist mid-swing.

Shit.

"Nice try," he sneered, twisting your arm. Pain shot through your shoulder, but you let it happen, using the force of his grip to pull him forward—right into your knee.

His head snapped back, and you wrenched free, flipping the knife in your grip before slashing across his chest. The blade barely cut through his tactical gear. You needed to aim for softer targets.

"Omega, status?"

Zemo’s voice crackled in your ear. You could hear the tension beneath his composed tone.

You ducked another strike, feeling the heat of the super soldier’s fist grazing past your face.

"Little distraction," you muttered, gritting your teeth.

The super soldier snarled, swiping for your throat. You threw yourself backward, twisting mid-air as his fist grazed your arm—

No, not grazed—

A sharp, searing pain bloomed through your bicep.

You hit the ground, eyes flicking down. Blood. The bastard had a gun. You hadn’t even seen him draw it.

"Omega," Zemo’s voice cut through the haze of pain, he almost sounded worried, tense. "Report."

The super soldier stalked forward, gun still raised.

You clenched your jaw, rolling your injured shoulder as you rose to your feet.

"I’m handling it," you said, voice tight.

Zemo let out a low hum over the comms.

"So stubborn, liebling."

You exhaled sharply, grip tightening around your knife as the super soldier smirked.

"That was your one shot," you told him, shifting your stance.

Because now?

You were pissed.

The super soldier came at you again, fast and relentless. The pain in your arm burned, but you pushed it aside, narrowing your focus. You had one goal—put him down.

He swung wide. You ducked under the punch, spinning on your heel and using your momentum to drive your knife into the soft flesh beneath his ribs. A normal man would have gone down instantly, but this wasn’t a normal man.

The super soldier grunted, reaching for you. You twisted the blade, then ripped it free.

He staggered.

Not enough.

You darted behind him, wrapping an arm around his throat and locking your legs around his waist. A chokehold. He thrashed, trying to pry you off, but you gritted your teeth and held on.

Super soldiers needed oxygen, same as everyone else.

His movements became sluggish.

Then—a gunshot.

The super soldier jerked. You released him, letting his body crumple to the ground. Your breath came fast, your injured arm throbbing.

Zemo stood near the doorway, lowering his gun. His gaze flicked from the body to you.

"Disgusting thing," he murmured, stepping inside. He approached smoothly, scanning you for injuries.

His eyes lingered on your bleeding arm.

“Don’t you work with three of them?” You huffed.

“And I will deal with them if I ever need to,” Zemo hummed.

His hand reached out to your arm, but you took a step back. This was a mission, it was still going on. You couldn’t afford to be vulnerable here. Zemo lowered his hand.

“Come. Let’s see what they were hiding.”

You both walked back to the desk, where the device was still downloading the data. Zemo opened the draws, pulling out a stack of files. You flinched, seeing the symbol printed on them.

Hydra.

“Great.” You spoke spitefully.

“Like I said, they’ve been experimenting with old Hydra tech,” Zemo spoke calmly as he opened the files, glancing inside, “We will take these,”

You busied yourself with a thick book, flicking it open.

The ledger.

As you opened it, a name stood out that made your heart stop.

Your ex-mate.

Your dead ex-mate.

Zemo must have smelt the sudden change in your scent, the way it soured and twisted in the air. He stepped closer just as your breath caught, your fingers shook as you poked the name.

He had been a trafficker.

He had been with Hydra.

“Liebling,” Zemo’s calm voice sounded but you didn’t focus on it.

The shock, from Zemo’s scent to finding about such a betrayal, your instincts were starting to go haywire. You needed to stay calm but you couldn’t, a sound working it’s way up your chest and out your throat.

You whined.

Zemo was quick to shut the ledger, tucking the book under his arm as loud foosteps sounded outside the door. Your hands were shaking as you reached for the device, only for Zemo to grab it before you could.

“Not now, omega,” He spoke oddly calmly but his scent smelt like anger.

Distress.

“Jordi,” Zemo spoke over the comms, “We’d like to come home now,”

“Permission, boss?” Her voice called back.

“Permission granted, Hase,”

Jordi appeared out of no where, standing between you and Zemo. You jumped slightly, brows furrowed as you tried to figure out where the hell she had come from.

The tech nerd grabbed both your arm and Zemo’s and you were gone.

It was like a flash of white and coldness before the three of you appeared in the Thunderbolts foyer.

A wave of nausea rolled over you, making you stumble to the nearest bin and release the contents of your stomach.

Jordi winced as Zemo slapped the device into her hand, “Sorry, it’s a bit of a shock to the system the first time,”

“She needs medical attention, Jordi,” Zemo stated firmly, leaving no room for argument as Jordi helped you up.

It wasn’t the authority of Baron Zemo, it was the voice of an alpha.

"Let’s get you patched up,”

—-

Jordi’s medical room isn’t massive but it’s surprisingly cozy.

Fairy lights trail along the ceiling, and a stack of thick blankets sits on a cushioned bench. You sit on it with a grunt, cradling your bleeding arm. The shock of the ledger hasn’t quite worn off yet; your mind races between the pain in your body and the revelation from those files.

Jordi rifles through a drawer, pulling out bandages and a small medkit. "This might sting," she says, as she dabs at your wound with antiseptic.

You wince but don’t flinch, letting her work. "How long did it take you to get used to that... teleporting thing?"

"Honestly, it’s still difficult, I only really use it when it’s needed," she grins, glancing up at you from behind her glasses. "Freaked out a lot, ended up in some weird places."

You give a short laugh that comes out shakier than you’d like. Jordi’s easygoing manner is a good distraction, but your thoughts keep racing.

You didn’t expect this to hit so hard, you’d seen his body in the rubble of the destroyed SHIELD building. You had worked alongside him, grew to love him and eventually bonded with him.

Was it a lie? Was anything about him even real?

Jordi doesn’t try to talk to you about it. She knows better.

You stared at Jordi as she stitched up your arm, her brows furrowed together in concentration and tongue poking out slightly. But your gaze was on the pinkish scar on her neck, not even the tiniest bit hidden.

It was a bond bite.

“You get that willingly?” You asked softly.

“Oh?” Jordi pulled back slightly, “The bite? Yeah, Yeah I did,”

“Are they a good alpha?” You questioned.

Jordi chuckled as she placed the surgical tools in the kidney dish, “Yeah, Peter’s amazing, just took me a while to see it,”

“Peter?” You raised an eyebrow, “As in Peter Parker, Spiderman?

“You didn’t know?” Jordi’s eyes widened in surprise.

You shook your head slowly, the pieces clicking together now. “He doesn’t seem like the alpha type.”

“Well, he is,” Jordi laughed, securing a bandage around your arm with quick efficiency. “And he’s mine.”

You felt a strange pang of envy at how easy she made it sound. At the way her face brightened just talking about him. “And you’re happy?” You asked, trying to keep your voice casual.

Jordi nodded, leaning back to admire her handiwork on your arm. “Happier than I ever thought possible. Funny, considering I hated him when we first met,”

Your eyes flicked to the side before you spoke, “How does Spiderman’s omega become the doctor and engineer for The Thunderbolts?”

“Well, I started off as Tanya Stark’s intern, trained under her until some weird shit happened, got bonded to Peter during all that weird shit and then got transferred when they formed The Thunderbolts,” Jordi shrugged as she sat backwards in her chair, a cute grin on her face, “I also worked in a bakery for spare cash,”

“You’re barely twenty,”

“I got into college at fourteen,”

“Of course you did,” you muttered, a reluctant smirk pulling at your lips.

“What about you?” Jordi asked. “I can smell the way you and Zemo react to each other?”

That was the end of this conversation. You stood up, pulling your jacket on before heading towards the door.

“Hey! Everyone can see the weird ass tension you two got!”

You paused, your hand hovering over the doorknob. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, a little too quickly.

“Sure,” Jordi said, not buying it for a second. “But if you want to talk about it…”

You didn’t wait for her to finish, slipping out and letting the door click shut behind you.

You find yourself stepping into the Thunderbolts briefing room, taking a seat as you just stare at the window, looking at the New York skyline.

Your entire life was coming crashing down.

When you had first joined SHIELD, you were changing your life, getting away from what had been your home life with your parents. SHIELD had become your life, you trained to be the best at what you did and joining that squad had been you finding your found family. You had a friendship with every single member, met your mate and bonded with him. Then it was time for you to retire, start thinking about the future.

The day he died had been the fall of SHIELD, when Hydra had taken over. It was supposed to be his last day, you were going to be moving inland, starting a life and a family together. Then he died and you blamed Steve Rogers at first, you hunted him down and almost killed him until Sam had talked you out of it.

Then, you spent your years hunting down hydra, hunting down anyone that hurt others. Because your mate would have wanted that, he was brave, he protected others.

And now, you knew he was a liar.

You stared at the table, fingers laced together as you simply sat in silence. There was an edge in the air, something that you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

You felt empty- hollow. There was nothing left to focus on. No next step.

The door creaked open, your senses, hyper aware and trained immediately picked up on the distinct scent. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Zemo.

Of course it was him.

He stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him, his presence as commanding as ever. He didnd’t speak at first, just observed you for a moment from across the room. His expression remained unreadable, but his gaze was sharp, as thought he could see straight through you. As if he could feel all the emotions coursing through your body.

“You’re alone,” Zemo remarked finally, sitting down across from you without waiting for an invitation. His voice was calm, steady, the cool authority always present.

You exhaled, a small, humourless laugh escaped your lips as you tilted your head up to meet his eyes. “I’m not surprised. I don’t anyone would want to be around me right now,”

Zemo didn’t respond immediately, instead, he leaned back in his chair with a quiet, almost imperceptible shrug.

After a beat of silence, you finally spoke, voice low and uncertain as if you were questioning yourself. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now, Zemo,”

Your words were a confession, an admission of vulnerability that you never allowed anyone to hear. Not even yourself. Your life up until not had been a series of missions, a strong of one objective after another, always moving forward, always with a purpose. But now? Now it was all over, your life shattered.

For the first time in years, tears rolled down your cheeks. Your instincts were flaring up, finally unleashed after you had closed them off for so long.

Zemo studied you for a moment, his expression thoughtful.

“Retire,” He said, his voice steady, almost too casual for the weight of the suggestion.

You blinked in surprise, a laugh coming out amongst the tears, “Retire? I’m a trained killer,” The words echoed out, gaze meeting his as you dared him to say it, “How the hell am I supposed to support myself if I retire?”

Zemo’s lips curled into a slight smirk, his eyes gleaming with a hunt of amusement. He leaned forward, hands resting on the table, scent thick in the air that curled around you like some sort of brace, a support.

“You’d be surprised how much you can accomplish without having to worry about paying bills,” He said, tone teasing, though there was an undercurrent of sincerity that you pause.

You were surprised by his answer, thought part of you had expected it. Zemo was wealthy- his resources, vast. It was always evident that the life Zemo lead was one filled with luxury, power and control with money hardly a concern. If this bond between you was real, some sort of twist of fate, he was already leaning into it.

“You want me to retire, live off your wealth?” You shook your head, tension in your shoulders easing slightly, though the uncertainty remained, “I don’t think I could do that, Zemo,”

His gaze softened, just a fraction, as though he understood exactly why you’d say that. Zemo was no stranger to pride, especially when it came to independence.

“I’m offering you an option,” He spoke, voice turned serious and direct, “It’s not about money. It’s about freedom. You’ve spent your life in service of others, living in the shadows. You don’t have to anymore,”

You looked at him for the longest moment, considering his words.

Could you really just walk away?

Zemo’s eyes never left your own, his scent still licking at your skin, as if softly begging you to take up his offer.

“You’ve earned peace,” He added quietly, his voice like velvet, almost soothing.

You exhaled slowly, mind swirling with the thoughts of what life could be like if you listened to him. If you took that step back, allowed yourself to breathe, to heal, to be with him.

The thought.. it was tempting with its simplicity.

“I don’t know,” You muttered, the weight pressing down on your chest, “I’ve never had peace,”

“Then allow yourself to find it, if not now, when?”

A beat of silence. A sliver of hope. Of something outside of missions, the violence, the constant fighting.

“How would I even begin?” You spoke small, vulnerable.

Zemo’s smirk returned, faint but genuine, “You start by allowing yourself to believe you’ve deserved it and then..maybe, you’ll let me support you,”

You stared at him. There was a strange, unexpected comfort in his words. For once, you didn’t fight your instincts, fight that crackle of electricity that came to life around him.

Resting your head on the table, you let yourself think about it. But slowly, your hand inched towards his own your fingers coming to rest in his palm.

Zemo accepted, like he always did. He always waited for you to make the first move. Like that day at the memorial when you had kissed him, like in the hotel room when you had rested against him. And now, with your hand resting in his own.

The silence stretched on, not uncomfortable but filled with unspoken words, unexpressed emotions. It was a silence that had weight, but for the first time it didn’t threaten to crush you. Zemo’s presence grounded you in a way you hadn’t expected. He didn’t push further, didn’t demand an answer or force you to confront what you weren’t ready to face. He just stayed there, holding your hand with a calm certainty that told you he wasn’t going anywhere.

You squeezed back after a moment, surprising yourself at how easy it was to allow that small gesture of acceptance. A nonverbal acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, his support—his offer of freedom—was something you could lean into. Something you could want.

—-

“Your Otecko and I rescued each other,” You whisper fondly.

You watch as your daughter’s eyes widen, intrigued, “Rescue? Like in the princess movies?”

You can’t help but smile more at the question, thinking about the fairytales that your daughter loved so much.

“Exactly like the princess movies,” You laugh.

She giggles, snuggling into her pillow while yawning, “Does that mean Otecko has a castle?”

“No, No castles,” You state with a grin, “But I’m sure if you asked, Otecko would buy you a castle,”

Before your daughter can speak, there’s a soft sound at the door followed by a chuckle. You smelt him before you heard him, your instincts still in tune with your surroundings. It was a habit you never really lost.

You look and find Zemo standing in the doorway, his presence unmistakable. His eyes soften as he steps into the room, moving closer to your daughter’s bed.

“What’s this I hear about castles, Zlatko?” His accent is thick as he speaks, sitting on the other side of your daughter.

Your daughter’s eyes light up immediately, sitting up a little straighter in her bed, “You made it home!”

Her little voice is full of excitement as Zemo cups her cheek, nodding, “I always make it home,”

“Mommy said you’d buy me a castle,” She giggles, laying down with heavy eyes, “Like in the princess movies,”

“I can see what I can do,” He chuckles before kissing your daughter’s forehead.

Your daughter laughs, eyes closing as she sinks deeper into the covers. You smile at her sleepy face, cherishing the simple peace of this moment.

“Good night, lovely,” You whisper as you kiss your daughter’s forehead.

She mumbles back a ‘good night’ in Sokovian before drifting off to sleep.

Zemo’s scent flares and you look at him.

“Rescue each other?” He whispers after a moment, amusement dancing in his tone.

“Would you rather I have told her the full story?” You quip, both of you standing up and heading to the door while Zemo flicks the lights off.

Her night light remains on as you both look at her sleeping form. Peacefully, calm, protected.

“You’re adorable, liebling,” He chuckles, that amusing taunt still in his voice.

“I can still beat your ass,” You whisper back, just as tauntingly.