#zemo fluff

Zemo hadn’t known what to expect when the door to your apartment opened but it certainly wasn’t instantaneous infatuation. You were a friend of Sam and Bucky’s and somehow, somehow, got roped into helping them hide him. Despite the initial feelings of scepticism and meticulously planning his escape from the dingy apartment building, when you opened the door it all changed.

You were stood in your pajamas, rubbing your eyes, speaking in a soft sleepy voice that alluded to you either just about ready to fall asleep or you had just woken up. Zemo was staring and he knew it. Even though you hadn’t looked at him yet, you were the picture of perfection with your slightly tousled hair and the disgruntled expression you were giving Sam as he explained what was going on. When your e/c eyes finally flickered over to him, finally meeting his eyes, he felt his breathing stop.

“You better come in,” you sighed, stepping aside and allowing them inside your small apartment.

You immediately headed to the small kitchen-cum-living room, turning on your kettle and grabbing mugs.

“Tea? Coffee? Food?” You fire off questions in rapid succession but Sam nor James pay attention to you. They’d began a hushed conversation about ideas and plans in your living room. Zemo looked over to you and was surprised to see you were looking directly at him. He felt like a deer in headlights. He was at a loss for words. For once.

You raised an eyebrow at him curiously. “You... want anything?”

Zemo clears his throat and stiffly approaches the counter top that seperates the two of you. “Tea will do. Thank you.”

“I have earl grey and English breakfast,” You say, holding up the two boxes. “What would you prefer?”

Zemo blinks, his throat dry. “Earl grey, please.”

“Sugar and milk?”

Zemo only nods and watches as you turn away to prepare the tea. Surely, you knew he was dangerous? Surely, you had seen the news from years before? Surely, you knew you shouldn’t turn your back to him?

But you had. And Zemo was helplessly lost in you whilst the hushed conversation of Bucky and Sam drifted around the apartment. He couldn’t remember when he had last felt this way. It had been a long time, that’s for sure.

After five minutes you turn around with two mugs in your hand and slide one to Zemo. He carefully lifts the mug to his mouth and sips, relishing the sleepy warmth of the lavender drink. His tongue darts across his lips, something else is in the drink, making it ever so slightly sweeter. You register his expression and offer him a small, sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I think I’ve given you mine. I always add a dash of vanilla syrup.”

Vanilla. Zemo’s eyes widen but he smiles and nods. “An excellent combination.”

Your smile brightens. Zemo thinks his knees might give out; that smile lights up your entire living room and you’re not even trying. He should be trying to manipulate you, make you uncomfortable; not nervously running sweaty palms on his slacks or being tongue tied. And you should be cold and harsh, threatening to maim him like Bucky or Sharon not warm, friendly and inviting.

“Have you ever tried an Edinburgh Mist?” You ask, eyes brightening with each passing second. Zemo briefly wonders if it's because your friends, the ones who have barely spoken with you, the ones who have landed a fugitive terrorist into your hands, have never bothered to indulge in the beauty that was you. He shakes his head gently, watching you speak.

“It’s like the cocktail London Fog but an actual hot drink.” You explain. “it’s earl grey with vanilla, with foamed milk and dusted with cinnamon. I loved it so much I had to start making it at home.”

Zemo finds himself smiling  over the rim of his mug at you. He hums in response, nodding a little before adding, “I may have to trouble you for one when you have the chance.”

You scoff a little, suppressing what looks to be a blush and Zemo’s heart does a flip. Unfortunately, you’re both torn away by Sam and Bucky wanting to talk strategy.

The next few days feel like a dream.

Zemo practically follows you around like a love sick puppy, offering to help with everything he can. Laundry. Cooking. Cleaning. Each time you dismiss him, citing that he is a guest in your home and will be treated as such. Your mother didn’t raise you to be unwelcoming.

When it’s clear he doesn’t really know what to do with himself, you roll your eyes and pretend you’re so hard done by with the lack of help you recieve from Bucky and Sam, that you’ll gladly take Zemo’s company instead. Which he humbly (albeit very enthusiastically) accepts.

As you do chores, you chat about anything and everything. His favourite books, your favourite shows, his music taste, your favourite foods. Whilst you cook he watches eagerly, asking inquisitive questions and occasionally teasing gently to make you laugh. Part of your brain believes it to be a ploy, as does Sam and Bucky. Some grand manipulation that they had warned you he was capable of. But somehow you doubted it. There was something about how he made you laugh, how he always acted the gentleman and offered his help, something about the softness in his eyes that you knew he meant every word he spoke and action he did.

Perhaps that was what caused the argument between you and Sam.

“He’s a terrorist,” Sam snapped at you on the fifth day. Bucky was out and Zemo was in the shower, making it an opportune time to discuss the behaviour Sam had witnessed over the last few days. “And a master manipulator. You should not trust him.”

“God forbid men have hobbies.” You quip. Then seeing Sam's frown you sigh.

"On a technicality, you are too." You point out, scrubbing at a dish violently. Anger had bubbled inside you at the subtle accusation that you were falling for a manipulation, especially when said terror had been placed in your lap. “You brought him here as well.” You huff with agitation.

It was Sam’s turn to huff. “You don’t get it. He’s dangerous.”

You slam the scourer down and glare at Sam. “No, you’re not getting it. You brought him here. Hell, yesterday you and Bucky went out and left me with him for hours.”

Sam opens his mouth and closes it again, at a loss for words. He knows he can’t argue against that and he knows damn well better than to try.

“Just... be careful. Okay?” He grumbles, heading to the spare room. “That’s all I ask.”

Once the door is closed you roll your eyes and turn back to the sink, haughtily mimicking Sam’s words. You startle when you hear Zemo chuckle from behind you.

“Apologies,” He murmurs, looking over  at you with a smug smile. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Whether or not it was his intention, you know that he isn’t sorry about it at all and it makes you smirk back. As with everything the last few days, you can’t seem to find yourself to be genuinely upset with him.

“It’s alright,” you sigh, drying your hands. “Tea?”

“Please, dragă.”  

You blush at the use of the nickname, but turn away quickly. This was another ritual that had formed in the last few days, and you would be lying if you didn’t enjoy the sweet nickname he’d given you and the way his honeyed eyes followed your movements. You didn’t want to tell him you knew the meaning. That you’d briefly dabbled in learning Sokovian. Something about him using his native tongue to compliment you, believing you had no idea what he was saying as  he looked  at you,  made your heart beat faster and your fondness for him grow. Again, this only made arguments of him manipulating you weaker; why say things to you that you couldn’t understand? Quick compliments or praise in a foreign language he thought only he could speak, muttered under his breath that made your resolve crumble apart like a cookie dipped in hot  tea. You couldn’t deny that he had charm but something else drew you to him. It was like you were under a spell and the thought that he may have to leave soon was too much to bare.

“You know,” Zemo started, voice quiet. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the countertop. “I’ve noticed that they don’t appreciate you, dragă.”

You turn, eyebrows high, mid-stir of the teas. “What?”

Zemo’s eyes drop to his hands. “Perhaps I am out of line,” he says carefully. “But you are correct in that all of us being here was sprang on you. Yet you welcomed us, even me, into your home without hesitation. You have cooked meals, offered your shower, home and did laundry... and only once or twice I have heard a thank you.” He looks up, meeting your eyes with his. His expression is soft, almost apologetic. “So, thank you, dragă.”

You blink at him, slightly shocked. So, he’d overheard your argument with Sam. He could’ve taken a different route; planting seeds of doubt about your friendship with the heroes, allowing tendrils of resentment to grow and blossom into anger. However, he hadn’t. Zemo had only pointed out the truth of the current situation; you had accepted the bizarre situation to help your friends and hopefully the betterment of the world without question and without thanks. Your mouth opened to defend Sam and Bucky, but your mind faltered trying to find an example from the last few days.

In fact, Bucky had grumbled his thanks of a coffee once and Sam for his food once. Zemo had been trying to help you for the past five days and somehow always managed to thank you and compliment you. Heat rushed to your cheeks and you snapped your mouth closed. You shrug half heartedly and remove the teabags.

“Thank you.” You murmur and then realise it sounds like a very stupid thing to say back. “For saying thank you? Sorry. Um.”

You turn back, handing him his tea but not meeting his gaze. You’d already learned to make it how he liked. That was probably not a good sign. You clear your throat.

“I appreciate it.”

There’s a beat of silence and you look back at him. He smiles. You smile back.

Your heart beats a little faster than before and you shift on your feet. You’re being drawn in again.

“Anytime.” Zemo bows his head to you, still smiling, his tone utterly sincere; like he would never tire of thanking you. His gaze meets yours again and he exhales gently. “You... are something else. Do you know that?”

You tilt your head at him, smile widening to a lopsided grin. “No? How do you mean?”

Zemo huffs through his nose, chuckling slightly. “You have bewitched me, dragă. From the moment I saw you.” He takes a sip from his mug watching you with a mesmerised expression. In a low rumbling voice he adds, “Vrăjitore.”

Your breathing stalls for a moment. You don’t think anyone has ever looked at you like how Zemo is looking at you; like you’re almost too good to be true. Your stomach twists into knots and your heart and mind race to try to come up with a quip or statement as equally romantic and poetic as he’d uttered but you can’t.

When you don’t respond, Zemo steps away, looking at the floor. “Forgive me. I’ve said too much.”

“No!” you blurt suddenly, and cover your hand with your mouth. You cringe slightly and smile sheepishly at Zemo, whose tilting his head curiously at you now. “I thought it was just me.” You say lamely.

Zemo’s eyes widen and a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth but he says nothing as you rake a nervous hand through your hair.

“So....” You start awkwardly, wetting your lips and dropping your hand from your nape limply.

“So.” Zemo repeats back to you, his eyes sparkling. You can feel your heart thunder at the sight and you open your mouth to continue  but Sam erupts into the room.

“We need to go,” He says hurriedly to Zemo, throwing on his jacket. “Bucky and Sharon have ran into some trouble.”  

Zemo nods, setting his mug down and striding to the coat rack for his purple fur coat. Sam shoots you an apologetic glance when you ask if they’d be back.

“We may have to find another safe house. We’ve stayed here for too long, you might get caught being with us.” He shrugs. “But thanks for everything. I owe you one.” Sam grins over at you cheekily and adds, “and so does Bucky.”

“As do I.” Zemo adds, smiling softly over at you as he straightens the  collar of his coat. Sam looks like he’s about to shush Zemo when his phone rings. Sam’s expression turns serious and he stalks for the front door muttering instructions to either Bucky or Sharon.  He points at Zemo before he opens it. “Parking garage in five minutes. Make sure you’re not followed.”

The door closes behind Sam before  he sees Zemo nod and make his way back over to you.

Zemo stands before you, looking down at you with the same wondrous expression he had before. He’s close but not too close; a polite distance even after  everything tonight.

“So....” You start again, smiling wryly at him. “I guess this is goodbye?”

“For now, vrăjatore.” Zemo says with a gentle smile. A gloved hand reaches up hesitantly to cup your cheek. You can feel the heat of his palm through the leather, and you lean into it; searching for his warmth. Your eyes flutter ever so slightly and you heave a sigh. Just your luck.

“I’ll find you once the dust settles.”

You raide an eyebrow at him and chuckle. “And I’ll be waiting.”

Your own hand encompasses his on your cheek and it feels like an eternity passes as you both stand in silence gazing at eachother before Zemo leans down and places a chaste, tender kiss to your lips. Your heart stutters and you move to follow his lips as he pulls back, making him chuckle.

“I’ll find you,” he repeats, firmer this time. “And then you may kiss me for as long as you wish. Until then, duty calls.”

He grins at you again, adoring the flushed expression you’re wearing, but pulls further away from you. Your arm stretches out, still holding his hand and with one last, small squeeze you release him; watching him stride out of the front door and follow Sam. The silence in your apartment is palpable, and when you remember to draw a breath, the air is stale and dry. You sigh to yourself and finish your tea while replaying the events of the last hour.

 You hadn’t seen Zemo in two months.

That hadn’t meant his presence was missing.

The mission had finished a month ago, however, Zemo was still currently on the run. Bucky and Sam had attempted to find him but from what they had told you, they had assumed he was long gone in some faraway island, living it up. But you had known better.

Lavish gifts from expensive chocolates to tea had appeared at your apartment. The latest was the newest, beautiful bouquet that you had centred perfectly on your coffee table, somewhere you could look upon it everyday, and a pack of cherry blossom tea. You took photos of all of your gifts and added little notes of them into your phone – as you had no way of contacting the Baron, you ensured you could thank him for each and every gift he’d bought for you when you saw him in person. Bouquets came every ten days like clockwork – as soon as one bouquet wilted, the next would appear to take its place. The gifts would be every two weeks. Maybe, you joked with yourself, so it didn’t seem like it was excessive to send two gifts every week.

The only indication that it was Zemo sending you these items was because each gift came with a small 6-by-4 card with one word written in plum-purple cursive.

New York - 2025

Entering the close to an abandoned-looking building, Sam struggles to hold back a sneeze as he walked into a cobweb.

"Ma-duk," Zemo mutters, following Sam in with Bucky smiling to himself at the comment.

"I heard that." Sam retorts, wiping the cobweb away. "So, where are they?" He looks around at the dust-coated stairwell and stain-glassed windows.

Bucky hums. "They should be here."

"Yes, thank you for repeating that." Sam rolls his eyes. "How are we here before them when they can do that," Sam lifts his arms up, copying the actions often seen from the sorcerers of the mystic arts.

Zemo's ears perk up at a faint hissing sound, and as he turns sparks begin to form in thin air. "I think they might've heard you, Sam." Zemo calls out, watching several portals form and the recruited team of sorcerers step into the lobby.

Now standing before the trio, Strange approaches first.

"Are you sure you're ready to do this? We don't know how she'll react or if she'll even come back." Strange reminds Bucky specifically, knowing he had the most concern about you returning despite the longing to see you again.

"She needs to come back." Zemo comments with a small smile. "So she can heal, and live her life." He adds, looking down at his left hand, noting how it still feels odd to see his ring finger bare.

"There's one thing though that we haven't discussed," Emilie speaks up, sharing a look of understanding with Strange. "If Y/n returns, she, she won't be able to go back, not ever." Emilie explains with sorrow filling her tone, picturing your bright smile in those old articles everyone researched.

You'd be torn from your family once again, forced into another situation whether you'd like it or not.

"She'll never see Laszlo again?" Zemo is the first to ask, unsure what to make of it all.

"It's too complex for the timeline. If she were to return, a new timeline would form and," Strange trails off upon seeing blank expressions in response.

"If Y/n comes home, that's it." Emilie states finally. "It's up to her if she does, but we can at least try."

"So be it." Sam nods, sparing Bucky a look who nods in response despite his shoulders beginning to fall forward in despair.

Both Emilie and Strange turn their backs to face the other sorcerers and begin their process. "So, Y/n will be home." Sam chuckles dryly at the thought, after all these years without you to tease him or make him smile when times got tough. He knew he owed you more than these past few years, even if he's not been there to help you through them, he'll help you now.

--

Wandering the halls of the Institute, your fingers glide across the walls laced with memories. You'll never forget the children, their laughter or cries for a Mother figure and them finding comfort in you for a short while.

You find your feet guiding you toward Laszlo's office, the door remaining ajar and piano now clean from dust too tempting to ignore.

Sitting down once more your back remains turned from the doorway. Yet this time, you can sense Laszlo lingering, watching you closely as you begin to play a gentle melody.

With your eyes closed, your fingers guide the tune, one you knew from childhood- a simpler time before everything became so complicated when there were no worldly threats and a lifetime of loss.

"You played that once before," Laszlo enters his office, listening to the song ending and catches your fingers slipping from the keys. "Christmas Eve last year." He remembers, unaware of the tears forming in your eyes whilst he smiles at the memory.

"My mother taught it to me," You whisper, not wishing to shatter the moment with volume. "she, she would always sing along whilst dancing with my siblings." A single tear falls to your lap upon feeling Laszlo's hand rest on your shoulder, followed by his lips to the top of your head.

"I know Schatz, we danced together, along with Sara and John." Laszlo recalls as he lifts his head up, catching the downturn of your lips.

"Oh, of course," The words pass your lips in a mumble. "it's getting worse, Las." You hate to admit it aloud, but you both knew it would happen eventually.

Taking the spot beside you, Laszlo wraps his arm around you allowing you to rest your head on his chest. With a heavy sigh, he closes his eyes, treasuring this moment with you. "We knew this was coming, Y/n." Laszlo remains truthful, no matter how much it hurts. "But there's no need to be afraid, remember that."

Laszlo can hear you sniffling at his words he uses his bad arm to try and lift your chin so you can look at him properly.

Despite your blurred vision, you can tell he's crying too. "What if something happens?" You dare to question, knowing this is filled with uncertainties for you both.

"We'll figure it out, just like we always have." Laszlo states as he leans in, his lips brushing over yours. "It'll all work out, my dear." He mutters to you before kissing you again, this time not wanting to dare let go of you.

--

On the sidelines to the final preparation stands Bucky, watching everyone's movements and listening to the conversation.

"I thought you'd be more excited, hell, I anticipated a smile at the least." Sam tries to lighten the tense mood as he dares intrude Bucky from his thoughts.

Bucky pauses before sparing Sam a glance. "It's just not what I expected. After all this time." He admits, his mind racing with those photos and articles they all read about you.

You were a wife, a mother figure to children who needed one. A friend to many and a badass detective. It was everything you dreamt of having, but never had the opportunity to experience.

"Don't go telling me you wanna back out?" Sam notices the change in Bucky's posture immediately.

Shaking his head slowly, no more words are exchanged between the pair.

"It'll be Y/n's choice, Sam." Zemo comments, having overheard the brief conversation.

"But she should come home, to where she belongs." Sam can't help himself. He knows he might be selfish, but he doesn't want to lose you again, not like this. "If she doesn't come back, she's gone for good. There's no returning, no miracle, no spell or time travel available. She will become nothing more than a name on a gravestone."

Sam's words fall flat between everyone. His voice had risen during his statement.

Strange clears his throat, ensuring their attention reverts. "It's time, she's ready."

Every student present begins to form a line whilst Strange stands before them. "You know what to do, focus." He nods to them all, stepping back toward Bucky, Sam and Zemo as the students take deep breaths.

"You sure this'll work?" Sam can't help ask, depiste how much extensive practise has gone into this.

One by one, a portal begins to open. Some are to places unrecognisable, the wrong time period or the wrong city.

Yet, Emilie's leads to Doctor Laszlo Kreizler's institute.

"Well, who's going?" Emilie asks with a hint of a smile on her face, watching Strange, Sam and Bucky enter, leaving Zemo to stand watching. "You not joining?"

Zemo keeps his feet firmly planted on the spot. "It's not my place to be involved." He simply remarks, crossing his fingers behind his back, hoping you'll return.

--

"After all this, you're leaving?" Tears line Sara's cheeks, but she refuses to wipe them. This is her moment of weakness with the three people she trusts with everything. How was this supposed to become only two?

Laszlo's hand remains on your waist, holding you close. He can feel your body tensing, noting you clenching your fists as light streams through your veins.

"Trust me, if there was another way," You trail off when the pain intensifies. It feels like acid is pumping through your veins, causing you to fall into Laszlo who whispers comfort into your ear.

"We can't let her live like this," Laszlo kisses your temple, not wanting to face his friends. "she will be helped, she will be cured." He reaffirms. "That is what is important in this situation."

John, previously standing tall now slumps into the armchair. "I can't imagine our lives without you now, Y/n." John dryly chuckles, catching a half smile from you in response.

"I'll be back, John." You breathe out, missing the look Laszlo sends John. "Can't keep me gone. Not when there's so much to do around here." Forcing a small laugh, the pain begins to subside enough for you to support your own weight.

Yet, something shifts.

Laszlo notices, but Sara and John seem oblivious to such.

Without a second thought, your hand reaches for Laszlo's, taking his fingers between yours and clasping your hand into his. He squeezes three times, and you do in return.

"It's time." You stand tall, with your husband by your side. "Don't try and have too much fun without me, alright?"

Sara and John rise to their feet, embracing you in a hug before allowing you to walk out of the office, hand in hand with Laszlo.

Once you have turned the corner, Sara crumbles into John. "She's not coming back, is she?" Sara mutters, feeling John's hand on the back of her head, holding her close.

John needn't say a word, because they both knew from how tightly Laszlo held your hand, knowing it would soon slip from his forevermore.

--

Standing opposite the building, horses continued to neigh before being forced to walk on, guiding the carriages from their view leaving tracks of snow behind.

"We're really here, huh?" Sam looks in disbelief. Despite everything that's happened, this is probably in his top three weirdest situations.

Bucky watches intensely at the front door to the institution, the large gates guarding the building delicately wound with golden leaves. And then, his breath halters at the sight; you.

Strange can see it play out and extends his arm outward. "I wouldn't." His tone suggests a warning, and for once, Bucky obliges. "We have to let her do this, on her terms."

"How long do we have?" Sam asks, glancing back at the open portal. The rest of the sorcerers are supporting Emilie, seeing sweat drip from her forehead, her arms already trembling.

Without blinking, Strange responds. "5 minutes at most."

Dark clouds above begin to shake, dropping snowflakes down on the city, adding to the existing used pile beneath their feet.

The group watches you exit the building, hand in hand with Doctor Kreizler. If it were any other situation, Sam might've spared a laugh at your outfit, knowing how long it must've taken for you to comply to such a dress code.

You continue your conversation with Laszlo, pretending that this isn't it, because it's not, it cannot be. And then you see them, through the gates, your other family.

Without a chance to catch a breath, the piercing pain increases and you let out a scream.

"Schatz, it's alright, I've got you." Collapsing behind the gates, you close your eyes, embracing Laszlo as tears freely fall, almost freezing against your cheeks. "I've got you." He repeats, hearing hurried footsteps approaching the gates.

Two pairs of hands wrap around the gates, matched with concerned gazes set on you.

"Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, I take it?" Laszlo asks.

Neither Sam nor Bucky can get over the resemblance to the man standing on the other side of the portal, but they know this isn't the time to fixate on how you could hate one and love another.

"Can we come in?" Bucky questions, thankful when Laszlo nods.

Snapping the chains, the gates open outward.

"Come on, schatz." Laszlo lifts a hand up to your hair, brushing it out from your face, his heart sinking when you meet his gaze. "We both know this day would come, where one would say goodbye to the other before our time was up." He speaks clearly, submerging the pain in his voice.

Slowly you rise with his help, unaware of your oldest friends mere feet from you after all this time.

"Oh, Laszlo," You whisper, placing your hands on his cheeks, catching a tear he lets slip out at your delicate tone. "this isn't goodbye. There's still so much more for us to do."

Bringing his hands to cover yours, he moves them to his lips. "But I'm afraid we won't be doing it together, dear." He frets, feeling your hands shake in his.

"Our adventure isn't over, Las." Squeezing his hands three times, you focus on his deep eyes, remembering them clearly when he first stumbled upon you all those years ago. They were forever laced with kindness, and sincerity for those who needed help. He never had to help you, but he chose to. And now, you will do him the same kindness. "It is simply happening at different times."

Holding back a sob, Laszlo squeezes back three times. "And that is okay." You finish, leaning closer to kiss him.

When your lips meet his, you wish to never let go.

Every kiss replays in your mind. From the piano to your first time together, your wedding, the arguments, the relief after a case, near misses during said cases, celebrations, losses and every little moment in between.

Snowflakes mix with teardrops as you part.

"I will always love you, Laszlo." You whisper, wanting this to be said between you both, for him only.

His hands begin to slip from yours until they're empty of your warm embrace. "I love you, Y/n Kreizler." Laszlo mirrors your tone, watching your footprints in the snow lead toward the large portal before swallowing you whole.

The snow continues to fall, and your footprints begin to be covered. But you'll never be forgotten that easily, not by Laszlo.

As the portal consumes you, two pairs of arms support you. "We've got you, it's okay, doll." Bucky mutters, attempting to soothe you.

Looking over your shoulder, sparks of orange dissipate and your heart sinks. A scream overcomes your body, leaving you to slump to the ground with nothing left to give. That's when the world becomes blurred once more and turns into darkness.

--

Three months later. New York, 2025.

It still felt strange. The loss of him and that life is something you're unsure you'll ever overcome.

You, like many of your friends, have endured more loss than any person should experience in a lifetime. But knowing that doesn't make it any easier, nothing does.

Sitting in the living room with an almost cold mug of tea in hand, tear streaks are permanently dried to your cheeks.

"Y/n?" Zemo enters the room, hardly surprised when you do not respond nor spare him a glance.

Ever since you returned, you've been avoiding him. Zemo has an idea of why, but it's never been confirmed. You were escorted to Wakanda the night you returned, and only last week released with a clean bill of health to New York. A clean bill of physical help, no one can fix the scars on your mind with ease, not even Wakandan technology.

As an act of gratitude, you asked for them to spare Zemo for all he has done and helped with. Though you never told him to his face, you were grateful for everything that happened as, without it, you would never have known true love.

"Hello, Zemo." Your voice is still hoarse from the nightmares that plague your attempts at sleep. Everyone can hear you cry and scream for Laszlo. Usually, Bucky is the one who rushes in, trying to ease the pain like you once did for him. "How're you today?"

Nodding in response, despite the fact your back is facing him, Zemo approaches you cautiously. "I wanted to thank you, Y/n." Zemo acknowledges, nearing the sofa situated toward the large pane of windows.

"You deserve to live too." The sentence is muttered, but loud enough for Zemo to hear it. "I know I," You pause, daring to meet his gaze for the first time. "I can't go back." Tears immediately form in your eyes as you look at him.

Clean cut, hair parted differently. Even his stance and attire are unlike your beloved. But despite how much of him differ, it's still a punch in the gut to see him like this.

"How are you feeling today, Y/n?" Zemo rephrases, watching you roughly wipe your eyes with the tattered sleeves of your hoodie. "There's something I'd like to show you, only if you're feeling well enough for the excursion."

Rising to your feet with a heavy sigh, you face Zemo straight on. This time, your eyes do not waver from his. "I could use a change of scenery." You shrug, following behind him toward the front door.

Neither Sam or Bucky question the sight of you both leaving the building, instead they were thankful to see you, even if it were with Zemo. "Do you think?" Sam begins to question, noticing Bucky nod. "And do we?"

"No," Bucky answers curtly. "let him show her."

Walking alongside Zemo, the chill of winter catches you off guard as your arms remain tightly crossed.

"My wife, she always told me stories are often intertwined in life." Zemo quietly speaks up as you walk slowly alongside him. "When, when I left Sokovia, she wished me farewell like she normally would. I gave my son a hug goodbye," His voice cracks, causing you to pause and face him.

"That, that was the last time you saw them, isn't it?" Your hand rests on his upper arm as he barely nods. "What did she mean, about stoties being intertwined?"

An attempted smile crosses Zemo's lips at the memory of his wife's words. "She said there would always be people in our lives we'd meet, and for some reason, it would just make sense. I guess I'd never thought too deeply about it, until well," He trails off as you both continue walking toward an unknown destination.

"Until?" You press.

"Until you came into my apartment with a look of utter disgust, the opposite of the one my wife once had." He remarks, daring to glance over and see the visible confusion on his face. "You, you're a lot like her, Y/n. In many ways."

Words fail your lips, but you manage to hum.

"I don't expect you to say anything." Zemo adds fretfully.

"Where are we going?" You eventually question, noting the streets baring away from the liveliness of the city, drearing toward the quieter patches, peaceful even.

"It's just up ahead." He tells you, leaving you both to walk in silence toward the grass filled pathway.

Thick blades of grass and weeds were overgrown, leaving little of the original pathway exposed. Your eyes wandered the grounds, noticing the increase of angel statues, named etched in stone and dried, dying flowers planted at the bases.

Suddenly, your mind drifts back to a forgotten memory.

"This is where she'll be buried." Laszlo sighs deeply, resting his hand heavily on the cane, the other in yours. "It was all my fault."

"Don't say that, Laszlo." You hush him. "It was an accident, no one is to be of blame for this." Looking around the graveyard, many plots remained empty, awaiting a new resident to take a permanent place. "At least it is a pleasant resting place."

Lifting his head up, he follows your gaze toward the large hanging oak tree. "It is indeed." Laszlo remarks, stepping back and lightly pulls on your hand, guiding you out of the graveyard.

"Zemo," You breathe out, sparing him a teary glance.

"I won't intrude, but I thought this is something you deserved." He clears his throat, coming to a halt with you by his side. "It's the least I can do for you, Y/n." A small smile graces his lips when your eyes meet his, and an attempted one crosses your own.

Looking down, your knees become weak.

It's covered in moss, and cracked in areas. Mixtures of grey and white spread beneath the greenery that entraps it. But there, clearly etched into the stone; Doctor Laszlo Kriezler & Y/n Kriezler. Husband and Wife, lived long eventful lives. Their adventures together and apart will forever outlive them.

"He-" A sob lodges in your throat, your knees finally giving way. With Zemo's help, you cradle the mildewed grass beneath your feet as your fingers glide over your names, remaining together, forever.

"Whilst you were in Wakanda, Doctor Strange was able to find a small temporary loophole." Zemo begins to explain, remaining stood by your side whilst you quietly cry. Your palm never leaves your husband's name on the stone. "Bucky and Sam were able to visit Doctor Kriezler, inform him that you lived and will eventually be alright."

Sniffing, you can picture it now. Your oldest friends, going to meet your husband from the 1800s. As if your life wasn't weird enough.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Zemo pulls out an envelope and kneels beside you. "He wanted you to have this, Y/n."

A wax sealed, well well worn enclosed letter is in front of you. Even from here, it smells like the institute. Closing your eyes, you can see Laszlo now, hunched over his desk in the evening. Once all the children have gone to sleep, the fire behind him crackles. But you aren't there to fill the room with music or laughter. He'll be alone, writing you a letter, a final farewell.

Bringing the letter into your own hands, you sit upright. "Thank you, Zemo." You mumble, aware of his presence retreating to allow you this moment.

Cautiously, you lift the wax seal from the delicate paper to see his handwriting.

Wiping your eyes once more, you avoid splashing the ink with your tears as you begin to read his final letter to you, his love, his lost wife.

'My dearest Y/n, I know this has not been an easy journey for you, schatz, it was never intended to be. From the moment we first met, there was something in you I knew I couldn't live without knowing, even if John claimed insanity from me for allowing a woman dressed in such attire to be seen getting into our carriage; it was the least of my concern because I needed, I yearned to learn about this mystery woman. What I had not intended, was to fall in love with her. That, however, is not something I can ever regret, for it was the wisest decision I have made. Your smile, your wit, your laughter. My love, it is something I think of fondly, and I know Sara and John miss it too. We often sit in silence here at the institute, thinking back to those days after an investigation. How we'd all sit by the fire with a whiskey. You might accompany with music, and Sara may dare dance if she'd drank enough. Those are the moments I reflect on most; as you were candidly content. Your eyes would flicker with unfathomed joy which travelled to your lips and warmed my heart. I'm afraid to admit I can't bring myself to sit at the piano without you by my side. That being said, Y/n, my dear, I don't want you to suffer out there. We knew the consequences, even if neither wanted to admit such. I loved and will love you forevermore with everything, but I want you to do everything we never had the time for. Travel my love. See the world, take care of your spunky friends - they are exactly as you described them to be. If things were different, I'd say Sara might have taken some fancy (but best not repeat that.) Now, I am sure that you are aware of my burial place, one I had made originally for you. Even though I know you live on, you deserve a place here, one for us to visit. One day, I am sure my name will join yours, and that we will meet again.

Never forget my Y/n, our story is not over. It will continue again, in another life.

With all my love, yours, Laszlo.'

Crumbling into yourself, you have nothing left to voice. You hug the letter close to your chest, wanting and wishing for nothing more than it to be his arms around you. For Laszlo to whisper into your ear that everything will work out.

But he's not here. He's long gone and this is your reality of life without him.

"Y/n?" Zemo quietly calls your name, having approached one more upon seeing you curled into the damp grass as your shoulders shake.

Opening your eyes, you slowly look up at the man so alike to your love. It evokes something new completely within you as you focus on him. "T, thank you." You manage to find the words, knowing deep down that they aren't enough, no words will be enough as you look down at the letter in your grasp.

"I understand, Y/n." Zemo tells you softly, extending his hand toward you.

Accepting his help, you brush off the grass from yourself and glance back to the gravestone.

Silence falls between Zemo and you, but for once it isn't filled with tension and the unknown; it brings peace.

With the letter in hand, your thumb brushes over the wax seal before you tuck it into your pocket and face Zemo once more.

"Helmut?" You speak up, surprising both yourself and Zemo. You've never called him that, but it's embraced as he nods. "Would you like to see your family's memorial?"

Feeling his breath hitch in his throat, Zemo looks around in confusion. "This is real?" He asks in disbelief.

"Yes, Helmut. This is real." A soft smile forms on your lips, one of sure gratitude as Zemo's hand rests on his own heart. "Come on, we wouldn't want to keep them waiting."

"I, I," Stumbling over his own words, Zemo simply wraps his arms around you and brings you into a hug.

Tears form in his eyes whilst you cannot see him, but you can hear how fast his heart is beating.

Lifting your hand up, you rub his back whilst facing the gravestone, knowing somewhere, Laszlo is looking down with pride.

“Darling?” Zemo murmured, sitting up and feeling your fevered forehead.

“Get off,” you whined, hating the extra heat his touch brought, your body shivering as you hung between sleep and being barely awake.

“You’re burning up,” he said, pulling the heavy duvet off of you.

“Don’t feel good,” you sobbed weakly, shivering, your body feeling freezing from the fever.

“I know, let me help you.”

He stood from the bed, walking to the corner of the room where a large bowl bathtub was situated under a stained glass window. As he turned a knob, water began to fall from the ceiling, filling the tub along with the oils and salts he poured in.

“Come here.”

You rose shakily out of bed, covering your mouth as you coughed, weakened from the effort. Your muscles were sore, every inch of your body aching as you took unsteady steps toward Zemo. He unbuttoned his shirt that hung on your body, slipping it off your trembling shoulders.

“You have to work, Z,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes as he lifted you into the soothing bath, tenderly washing your skin.

“Don’t worry about anything other than feeling better,” Zemo said, wiping your face with a cool washcloth.

You leaned your head against his arm, breathing in the scent of lavender as he bathed you, trying to help you feel better. He hummed a melody, one you vaguely recognized as a Sokovian song he sang when he was anxious. His fingers massaged your head, using a detachable shower head to rinse the soap out, using cool water to try to help your fever. 

“I’m going to make you some tea. What kind would you like?”

“Jasmine, please,” you answered, letting him dry you off, though you were capable of helping yourself. 

“Jasmine it is. I have to do some work, but I can sit in the lounge if you want to watch films on the couch. I can keep an eye on my girl that way,” Zemo offered.

You slipped into a silk pajama set he laid out for you as he went into the kitchen to start your tea, giving you a few moments of privacy, though he would’ve preferred to dress you and not allow you out of his sight when you felt so sick.

You went out to the lounge like he asked, settling down onto one end of the couch that had been set up with pillows and blankets. You pushed your arms into Zemo’s oversized fluffy robe he had left out for you, worrying that you would be cold with fever.

He placed a tray of tea and toast down beside you, draping your favorite fuzzy blanket over your lap. 

“There’s some tylenol, too, if you need it,” he pointed to the little dish on the tray.

“Thank you.”

You lifted the steaming tea to your lips, smiling weakly as he sat down on the other end of the couch, reading a chapter of your book aloud before he needed to be in a meeting. You listened to his smooth accent roll over the words, crafting tales of legends and magic from the story you became engrossed in. 

He finished the chapter just before the door opened, Bucky and Sam walking in to do business. 

“Hey, angel, how’re ya feeling?” Sam asked, ignoring Zemo to kneel beside where you were snuggled on the couch. 

“Sick,” you whispered before falling in to another bout of coughs. 

“Zemo mentioned it. We brought you some soup,” Bucky said, holding up a brown paper bag before setting it down on the coffee table beside you. 

“Thank you!”

“Feel better. We don’t need a stressed out boss,” Sam teased, gently tugging on a lock of your hair. 

“I’ve got to meet with them about some things. I’ll be back to check on you in thirty minutes. Yell if you need anything, we’ll just be in the office,” Zemo said to you, leaning down to gently kiss you.

“No, you’ll get sick!”

“Don’t worry. Just turn on a movie and try to get some sleep. I’ll see you in a bit,” he shushed you, putting the remote in your hands. 

You nodded, turning on a romcom before laying down on your side, your eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion. The men were quiet when they reentered the room, and Zemo carefully shut off the television and let you sleep. 

The sun was low in the sky when you woke up from your fevered nap, the lounge dark, save a lamp glowing in the corner. 

“Zemo?” You whimpered, uneasy in the dark.

“I’m right here. How are you feeling?” He walked over, flipping on another dim light.

“Still crappy, but a bit better,” you confessed, trying to shed his robe, feeling too-warm.

“Do you think you could eat some soup the boys brought? I can warm it up.”

“Please,” you nodded, feeling hungry. 

He warmed it up on the stove, watching over you as you got up to stretch your sore legs. You walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and lying your head against his back, feeling the cool cotton of his shirt against your cheek.

“Will you let me feed it to you?” he asked, pouring it in one of the hand-painted bowls you loved, ones he had picked up from Sokovia on a trip home.

You nodded, sitting down in his lap once he was back on the couch. You opened your mouth for him to spoon the soup into, letting Zemo feed you.

“Stop, I don’t want you to get sick too!” You whined, complaining as he kissed your face.

“I’ll be fine, darling.”

You huffed, pouting before returning to gratefully accepting the soup.

.

“Zemo, I feel better!” You insisted as he pushed your shoulders back down to the bed.

“I want you to stay in bed one more day, to make sure it’s out of your system. It’s cold and wet today, and I will not have you being reckless and getting more sick,” Zemo argued, being his annoyingly protective self.

“You won’t even be here,” you argued, trying to sit up.

“That’s why I need you to just obey.”

You sighed, sinking back into the pillows, giving up, even though you felt completely back to normal.

“I’ll reward you if you’re good,” he promised, kissing your lips.

You watched him leave for work, needing to go into Madripoor’s downtown to take care of some business, leaving you alone in the flat.

A sigh left you, though you resided yourself to staying in bed like he asked. You turned on the television, getting lost in Sons of Anarchy, making the hours pass quickly as you waited for the return of your lover.

Your mid afternoon disappeared as you napped, enjoying the clean sheets and fresh pajamas you were in. Soft noises made you stir, but you didn’t wake, comforted by the familiar weight of Zemo’s footsteps on the Turkish tile flooring.

He watched you nap, happy that you had appeared to stay in bed like he’d asked. He had gotten home earlier than planned, and was looking forward to spoiling you for being his good girl even though you were sick.

“Hi, darling,” he bummed as you slowly woke, sitting up with a yawn.

“Zemo,” you opened your arms and pulled him to you, wrapping your limbs around his neck.

“I stayed in bed just like you told me to,” you informed him with a small yawn, smiling dreamily at the baron.

“I’m proud of you.”

“I want my reward,” you giggled, squirming on the sheets, your hips wiggling in anticipation.

He laid you down on your back, slipping your shorts and underwear off in one movement. Zemo didn’t hesitate before prying your thighs apart and lying between them, his mouth connecting to your glistening folds.

Your low moans and fingers pulling on his hair sent Zemo into a rougher mood, his fingers bruising your thighs as he held your legs open.

“Please!” You cried out as he bummed against your pussy, toying with your clit as you began to spasm, your orgasm dangerously close.

“Come for me, darling, I want to taste my sweet girl,” he growled, two of his fingers curling deep into your cunt.

The walls swallowed your scream as you released the tension in your body, coming hard on his tongue, your whole body quaking in the aftermath.

“So gorgeous for me,” he murmured, using a warm washcloth to carefully clean you up after, smiling down at your swollen sex.

“It was worth it,” you giggled breathlessly, reaching up and pulling him down into a kiss.

“I did handle it.” You argue, a hint of pride shining in your voice as you open the door. You gesture towards the laundry basket overturned on the floor. “I’ve trapped it.” He glances down at the basket, then back at you.

“How you’ve survived as an adult for this long, truly astounds me.”

“In a good way, right?” You tease with a grin. He shakes his head,

“Whatever helps you sleep at night Liebling.” As he approaches the basket you shift your feet warily. Zemo notices and looks back at you. “Would you prefer to stand on the bed?” You smile sheepishly at him before nodding. You jump up onto the bed, peering down at the floor.

“It was huge.” You explain, before showing him with your hands how big the spider was. Zemo plucks a tissue from the box on Carl’s desk and advances towards the basket. When the basket is lifted and the creature scuttles out you can’t help but recoil. When Zemo spots it he drops the basket and jumps onto the bed beside you, clinging onto your arms for support. You grab hold of him to prevent the two of you from crashing to the floor.

“Told you it was huge.” He hums in response, not wanting to agree with you, but certainly recognising the monstrosity he’s just released. “So what’s the plan?” You venture.

“I’m going to use you as an offering.” You tighten your hold on his arms.

“Don’t you dare.”

“It’s a necessary sacrifice.”

“It’s really not.”

“What do you propose?”

“We could evacuate the house?”

“Is that not rather drastic?”

“And using me as a human sacrifice isn’t?” You seize a large encyclopaedia from Carl’s nightstand.

“What are you doing?”

“Solving the problem. You’re going to hit it with this.” You tell him, waving the book for emphasis. He shakes his head slightly before he meets your hopeful eyes. He sighs, taking the book from you. After a few failed attempts on the spider’s life, Zemo finally drops the book onto the creature. As he’s flushing the remains down the toilet and cleaning up the bedroom, you scoop Carl up into your arms before returning him to his own bed. When Zemo looks for his son, he finds you tucking him in with a tender expression on your face. Zemo hovers in the doorway, watching the rather domestic scene. You turn to look at him, a rather embarrassed smile adorning your face as you stand up. You gesture slightly towards Carl’s bed and Zemo nods in understanding. The two of you swap places and you lean against the doorframe as he crouches on the bed. He bends down to press a kiss against Carl’s forehead, smoothing the blankets down as he stands. He turns the lamp off, and you hold the door open for him as the two of you step out into the hallway. You both make your way down the stairs quietly. Zemo looks back at you as you walk,

“Thank you, for tonight.”

“You’re welcome. And anytime you need someone to watch him, I’ll be free. He’s a sweet kid.” He seems rather taken aback by your offer.

“That means a great deal to me.” You smile gently at him. You’re about to reach for your coat when he asks you, “Would you like to stay? For a drink?” You hesitate at his offer.

“I shouldn’t, really. I have to drive home.” He nods,

“You could stay the night?” You hesitate again.

“Okay.” You say with a small smile. “If you’re sure it’s not a bother?” He shakes his head.

He knows the signs — he can always tell when you’re getting closer and closer to being overwhelmed with anxiety, an anxiety attack is coming, or even when you're just going through an anxious state. There are signs that he’s picked up on, such as you getting more distant in communication, even though it might help. You feel like it’s a bother to him and therefore wind up staying quiet about it unless he asks first. Thankfully, he understands that that’s just how you work and is more than willing to be the first one to bring it up.

↳ you’ll be in your room / work space for hours, isolating yourself, both trying to get stuff done and distract your mind from the anxiety creeping in. After a while Zemo makes it routine to come in and check on you, just to see if you need anything. / “Knock, knock,” you hear a familiar voice from behind, turning to see Zemo in the doorway with a tray of your favourite beverage. “Hi, sorry- kind of been busy,” you say quickly, continuing to fidget and rearrange whatever’s in front of you. “That’s okay,” he says gently, setting the tray nearby, reaching to touch your hand, “as long as you’re doing okay.” / Sometimes you take that as the opportunity to talk it out, other times it takes a couple tries on his part before you let your wall down and talk to him.

Moods — your anxiety sometimes brings about a more irritable attitude, where everything and everyone just stresses you out more and annoys you. It's because you're trying to bottle it all in, deal with the anxiety, and manage life. So, when you accidentally snap at Zemo, he simply pauses, takes a moment, and asks in a slow manner, “Love, is everything okay?” there's not demeaning tone, just genuine care / taking a deep breath, you try to keep it together, “yeah, fine, sorry.” / “Anything bothering you?” He casually asks, “anything I can do?” / Trying to keep your breathing calm, he can tell there’s something deeper at hand, knowing that you sometimes aren’t yourself when you’re anxious. / “I want to help,” he nods, raising his eyebrows to emphasize his seriousness, “if I can, I will.” He never forces you to talk, but he always establishes that he’s there for you if you need him; he’s not mad about the moods, he just wants you to feel a little more at ease, for your own mental state.

↳ he also completely understands if you need some time truly to yourself to decompress from everything. He’ll make sure that you have all your favourite comfort things, snacks, drink, blanket, movies, etc., he sets everything up for you, and then tells you that he’ll be in the living room and if you need anything just text him.

Reminds you — sometimes what makes you the most anxious is expectations, both from yourself and from others. If you don’t do enough work, or school, or you don’t attend something, you worry what impression you’ll give or if you’re letting other people down, when really you just need some time to yourself to recoup from the anxiety. Likewise, you can begin to feel overwhelmed when you push yourself to the mental limits. / “Darling, there’s no one you need to impress,” he reminds you, “all you should be focused on is you.” / “I know…, and I’m not doing enough, because I’m not enough,” you counter in a rushed tone. / “Not what I meant,” he tilts his head with a soft smile, “there’s no need to push yourself, you are perfectly on track for where you’re meant to be right now. No matter what anyone else thinks,” he softly kisses your forehead, "or what your anxiety tries to make you think."

Zemo is a great listener — when you finally break down to some venting, he is a number one listener. The timing is always okay with him, he never tells you "not now" or "can we do this later?" He doesn’t interrupt, he’s not distracted, he doesn’t ask you to cut to the chase. Instead, when the appropriate time comes, he asks questions to try and understand deeper or to help you work through it, he physically comforts you (holding your hand, rubbing your back), and makes sure you know you’re loved. It doesn’t matter if the conversation lasts 30 minutes or 3 hours, he’s there for you.

Anxiety attacks — during anxiety attacks when you're at your absolute lowest, he's right there to do whatever will help. Physical grounding? He's on it, you're in his arms and he's making sure you feel like you're being held tightly, he doesn't mind if you need to hold on to him like it's for dear life if it helps you ground yourself. Verbal grounding? He's here speaking assuring, calming, and loving words. Maybe you have a few anchoring phrases that you know help ground you, he's there to remind you of them and say them with you. // Anything that helps you he is more than willing to do, if you need to leave a situation, he'll get you out of it. If you're more sensory driven, he'll trying to ask you what you see, smell, and feel to ground you. / “Can you tell me three things you see?” He’ll ask, holding your hands and staying close to you.

He placed his gloved hands on the door handle, noisily jostling it for a few moments before huffing. "I believe..." He sighed in defeat as his hands fell to his sides, "It is locked."

You let out a soft chuckle at his words, "I think so" You smiled as he tilted his head at you, Sam was right, he did do that a lot. "So, what's the plan?" You added. You knew you were supposed to be keeping an eye on him, you really were never even a field agent when Sam had first gotten to know you, and you definitely knew that allowing the man you were supposed to keeping under control to create a plan for escape from this room was probably not the best idea, but you really didn't mean to get locked in this small storage space in the first place, so what was another off course decision?

"My plan?" He scoffed, and the sudden sound finally allowed you to realize how close you two actually had become, his chest almost entirely pressed against yours. "I would have believed you'd know better than to allow me to come up with a plan"

The cramped quarters did nothing to conceal how your breath hitched at the crooked smirk that appeared on his features. You swallowed, trying to compose yourself and definitely not get lost in the warmth of his amber hued stare. "I mean, Sam's told me all about you, you seem pretty good at plotting." You laughed again, and just as before, his head cocked to the side as you did, his eyes narrowed, almost as if he were analyzing you, not that it would surprise you if he was.

He continued to hold your gaze, even as he lifted on of his hands towards you, his fingers nearly tracing along your side before landing on the small, black box that you had entirely forgotten was fastened to your belt. You hastily turned to look at it when you heard the soft 'beep' sound that it made once he pressed the small button on it's top.

"Oh..." You timidly replied, almost wincing at your own forgetfulness of the tracker Sharon had made sure to remind you all about before splitting up.

"That. Is my plan" He replied, his eyebrow raising, a self-satisfied smile growing on his lips.

"So, now what do we do?" If you weren't so close to him, maybe you would curl into a ball and wonder when you had forgotten how to speak to people.

"We wait" He sighed, shifting slightly closer to the door before sliding his back against the wall until he finally sat on the ground, his knees pressing almost completely against his chest in the small space.

"Don't get too excited" You quipped facetiously, mirroring his own actions as you slid down the wall opposite, making sure to shift slightly to your right as to not get tangled in his limbs.

A quiet, 'humph' escaped his lips at first before he responded, "I'll do my best" he hummed, "I've been in worse company"

You couldn't help but feel the slightest twinge of disappointment at his words, and you silently cursed yourself for allowing your facial expressions to be so open, or maybe they weren't, over your few months of knowing him, you had realized how easily he was able to pick up on your emotions. Even the slightest changes in the turn of your lips, or the smallest wrinkle in the space between your eyebrows, he was frighteningly attuned to how you were feeling most of the time. Or maybe not so frighteningly. As much as it confused you to admit, it felt nice to have someone who read you so easily, to have someone that could understand you just from looking at your features.

"I didn't- I- Not that you're bad company" He sputtered, a touch of pink crawling onto his cheeks as he clarified himself.

Was he getting flustered?

"I quite enjoy your company..." He added shyly, clearing his throat as he finally composed himself.

You had never expected to enjoy the company of a war criminal so much, but things felt so easy around him. You loved both Sam and Bucky, but sometimes, it was a little hard to simply just exist around them. When you wanted to laugh at their banter and poke fun at old memories, you knew they would always be there, and you were grateful for that, though, on nights when the chaos of the outside world seemed to seep into every corner of your mind, you found yourself gravitating to the gentle aura of the man now sitting across from you.

Some nights you would chat, talking about everything from your favorite tea's to your lives before you even knew of the existence of SHIELD.

He made it feel so easy to just, be, in a world that already had asked so much of the both of you.

You needed easy.

You loved easy.

Easy was different, much, much, more different compared to what your day to day had become, running around with a former-assassin-super-solider and a man with bionic wings.

But you liked it.

Maybe more than liked it.

And in moments when his stare lingered on you for a second longer than what was usual, when his fingers ghosted against yours as he handed you a comforting cup of his cherry blossom tea, you let your mind wander.

Maybe he liked it too.

"So you memorized 'The Little Mermaid'?" You giggled, trying to catch your breath after almost choking on the mental image of the man who originally disbanded the Avengers singing Disney soundtracks.

"I locked myself away for days schatz, the television was the only thing I had to entertain myself"

"And how old were you?"

"12..." He mumbled, a bashful blush crawling from his neck and onto his cheeks as he spoke.

You wondered when the small space had grown so hot, but as Zemo adjusted his coat to wrap around him more, you began to speculate if maybe it was just you.

Suddenly, the both of you turned towards the black tracker on your belt as the soft beeping became increasingly louder and more frequent. You sighed, a wave of displeasure washing over you at the notion that your uninterrupted time together was drawing to a close.

You groaned as you finally stood, your bones creaking and moaning with you as you adjusted to the abrupt change in position. You smiled, "This has been fun" You almost whispered, throwing your arms above your head as you stretched.

"It has..." He sighed, you could have almost sworn a flash of melancholy crossed his features as he stood with you.

Instead of a knock at the door, or the squeaking of some tool picking at the lock from the outside, you heard nothing. Not even a soft murmur of teasing from Sam could be heard from beyond the door, only a single 'pop', followed by the hushed, screeching, creaking sound of the door opening.

You could have kicked through the door, you could have thrown it open with all the force you had and ran, but you didn't, you both just waited for any sign of life from the other side, some sort of taunting from someone on the other side about your situation, but still, nothing came.

You tossed around the idea of if Zemo had done this all on purpose, if he had some secret control to the door and he had planned this all along, opening the door only when he grew tired of your conversation.

If he did, you thought, you didn't think you'd mind all that much.

You watched as his hand finally reached out toward the silver handle almost reluctantly, and your brow furrowed as you suddenly noticed an undeniably mischievous glint appear in his gaze.

"But- We can go now?" You questioned, your eyes flickering to his hand as he quietly closed the door in front of you, the dreadful click once again echoing around you.

"We can." He replied, a crooked smile growing on his features, "But they seem to be doing well without us" He slid down the wall once again, softly grunting as he made himself comfortable in the cramped corner. "It wouldn't hurt to leave them for a few more hours, yes?"

oh to be trapped in a closet with zemo for hours :'), i hope i did your request a bit of justice my friend!! or at the very least enabled your newfound love of zemo a bit more!! mwauh!! i hope you're doing so well!! as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!!

want more zemo? check out my masterlist!