#zember

“You don’t even speak Sokovian. It would bore you,” he chuckles.

“Humor me. I like the sound of your voice.”

How could he say no to that? “Alright. It’s a poetry book. This one is called ‘Sara de peal’ by Mihai Eminescu.”

“Sounds pretty. What does it mean?”

“Evening on the Hill.”

Ember smiles softly. “That sounds perfect. Go on.”

Zemo returns his eyes to the book and begins to read, his voice low, and melodic in his native tongue.

“Sara pe deal buciumul sună cu jale,

Turmele-l urc, stele le scapără-n cale,

Apele plâng, clar izvorând în fântâne;

Sub un salcâm, dragă, m-aștepți tu pe mine.”

Ember hums peacefully, wrapping an arm around his waist as he continues softly.

“Luna pe cer trece-așa sfântă și clară,

Ochii tăi mari caută-n frunza cea rară,

Stelele nasc umezi pe bolta senină,

Pieptul de dor, fruntea de gânduri ți-e plină.”

Zemo watches fondly as her eyes start to droop, his words dropping to a lullaby-like whisper as he skips to the final stanza.

“Ne-om rezima capetele-unul de altul

Și surâzând vom adormi sub înaltul,

Vechiul salcâm. Astfel de noapte bogată,

Cine pe ea n-ar da viața toată?”

Ember is snoring softly on his chest. He leans in to kiss the top of her head. “Sleep well, draga mea.”

---

Listen to the Poem:

Sara pe deal by Mihai Eminescu

🎧 Musical version

🎧 Classroom-style reading

I couldn’t find a straight reading that didn’t sound like a professor that's what I was whining about a couple of days ago. It’s still a beautiful poem. Imagine something in between these two.

---

English Translation of the recited stanzas:

At dusk on the hill the horn sounds with much pain,

The flocks climb with patience, the stars shine again,

The waters are weeping, the fountains feel free;

Beneath an acacia, you're waiting for me.

The moon in the sky looks so holy and clear

Your eyes watch the foliage, which is rather near,

The bright stars are lovely, rise wet high above,

Your forehead is thoughtful, your chest full of love.

We’ll lean our heads gently together as one

And smiling we’ll sleep ‘neath the old tree alone

A night such as this, so rich and so deep—

As she steps out of the bathroom in her new ensemble, he can’t help but stare. The black velvet hugging her curves like he plans to later that night. The matching burgundy blazer reflecting her fiery nature. Much better than he imagined.

Ember clears her throat, snapping him out of his reverie. “Do I look ridiculous? I feel like a child playing dress up.”

Zemo looks startled by her statement, taking her hand with a gentlemanly flourish and kissing her knuckles. “You look gorgeous, звезда моя.”

“You are getting way too into this.”

“It’s not every day you let me spoil you. Just humor me.”

Ember sighs, a small smile on her lips as she adjusts his tie, burgundy to match her blazer. “Fine, I’ll humor you. Lead the way.”

Zemo stands a little straighter with a triumphant smirk and offers his arm. Ember places her hand on it and lets him lead her out to the car where Zemo, ever the gentleman, opens the passenger side for her and helps her get settled before taking up the driver’s seat himself.

The ride to the restaurant is silent, but full of soft touches and loving looks. Soon, they pull into the parking lot of a cozy but high-class Italian place.

“Reservation for Zemo.”

The woman in the front looks apologetic. “I’m sorry sir. Our computers are down so I can’t check on your reservation. You’re welcome to wait for the next available table, but it’s expected to be at least an hour.”

Zemo runs a hand through his hair in frustration, messing up his perfectly coifed strands.

Ember steps in to soothe him when she sees the telltale sign of irritation. “It’s alright, mi amor. We can just go somewhere else.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, jaw clenched, and then sighs, shoulders slumping slightly. “If that’s what you want.”

“Come on,” she urges gently, guiding him out of the restaurant before he starts throwing money around.

Back in the car, they start driving again with no particular destination, just looking for somewhere nice that might have an empty table, and that’s when it happens. The car begins to make a terrible thumping noise and grinds to a halt, smoke pouring from the hood.

“Doamne ferește!” Zemo gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him as he dials the number for a tow truck.

Ember gets out much slower, more concerned about Zemo than the car as she watches him hang up. “Are you alright?”

“Couldn’t be better.” He tries to sound calm, but he’s clearly upset. “I didn’t think we’d need Oeznik tonight, so I gave him the night off. We’re on our own until the tow truck shows up.”

And then rain starts pouring down, soaking them both instantly. Whatever comforting words Ember was going to offer die instantly on her lips as they both scramble to get in the back seat of the car.

“Well, aren’t we a pair of wet rats,” Ember jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

Zemo doesn’t respond as he tries to wrangle himself out of his sopping wet suit jacket.

“Our mission gear is back here. It’s not as fancy as what we’re wearing but at least it’s not wet.” Ember unzips a duffle bag and tosses him a set of tactical gear. Zemo glares until he spots her wriggling out of her velvet pantsuit.

“I’m going to catch on fire if you stare any harder.”

Zemo clears his throat, a light blush painting his cheeks. “I can’t help myself. Even soaked through on the worst anniversary in history, you are beautiful.”

“And you are a flatterer,” she chuckles. “Don’t worry. The nights not over yet.” She pulls on her own set of tactical gear with a smirk.

He finishes changing into the dry clothes while they wait on the tow truck and before long, they find themselves on the way home, sitting in a truck with a man who doesn’t appear to have showered recently.

When they arrive, they both find themselves eager to get away and do anything else for the night. Neither had eaten and they’re both famished, so plan B—or maybe Z—ends up being leftovers on the living room floor. Not the anniversary Zemo had planned, but they were together and that’s what counts.

---

Translation Notes:

звезда моя (zvezda moya) - my star

Mi amor - my love

“Rice kasha. It takes time. Rice, milk, butter. You cook it slowly. Mother taught me when I was young.”

“So, it’s bland arroz con leche?”

Zemo pauses a moment, glancing over his shoulder with an amused look. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

“It shouldn’t take this long for porridge,” Ember grumbles. “Let me do it.” She reaches for the spoon, but Zemo holds it out of her reach.

“I will make kasha however I please.”

“Fine, then I’ll make arroz con leche however I please,” she huffs, releasing him as she grabs another pot and puts it on the stove next to his with a smirk.

“You’re impossible,” he chuckles, shaking his head as he continues his slow stirring.

“Maybe, but you love me anyway,” she declares, preparing ingredients. Most are the same as Zemo’s kasha, but one notable difference is a large helping of cinnamon. When he gives her a funny look, she just shrugs and says, “I like mine loud.”

“Carl liked his kasha simple,” Zemo murmurs quietly, looking away.

Ember stops dead, her face falling like she just stepped on a landmine. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Zemo shakes his head. “Nothing to apologize for. It’s one of those days. I make kasha when I miss them.”

Ember lays a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. She knows there is nothing to be said on days like today. He just needs her to be there.

They finish cooking in silence. Ember finishes first despite starting later and waits for him patiently this time. Together they fill their bowls with their own rice and adjourn to the couch. Ember snuggles into his side as they eat in silence. Just presence. Just memory.

After a while, Zemo finally speaks up. “I used to make kasha for Carl when he got sick.”

Ember nods, giving his hand a light squeeze.

“I miss them.” His voice cracks, and he grips Ember’s hand like a lifeline.

“I know.” Ember sits up, placing their bowls on the coffee table before pulling him into a tight hug.

Zemo sobs into her shoulder. There will always be days like this. Days where the grief overwhelms the senses, but so long as they are together, they’ll survive.

---

What are these dishes?

Kasha is Russian for porridge. In an English-speaking context it usually refers to buckwheat porridge, but in Russia it can be any grain cooked into a soft, comforting dish. Rice kasha is a typical Russian breakfast and comfort food especially for children—simple, warm and often made with milk and butter.

“Is that what you think I am? A weapon?” She pulls back, retreating in on herself like covering a wound.

Zemo freezes, staring at her completely dumbstruck like he'd never seen her before. He'd been so blinded by revenge he didn't even think about how it might affect her. He knows she had been withdrawn lately; he thought she was just focused, but this… Oh, God.

He reaches out hesitantly, but she retreats further. He takes a shaky breath, looking between Ember and the dead soldiers. He hesitates and finally murmurs, “They chose this. You didn't.”

Ember lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding and finally meets his eyes. In them, she sees pain and regret, the Zemo she used to know, before he turns stoic again, clearing his throat as he turns away.