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“My name is on your list.”
Bucky sighs, and stands up from where he had been searching the night stand for wires. Zemo is standing in the doorway to the bedroom, his hands clasped behind his back.
“This is a nice place you got,” Bucky says stiffly, gesturing vaguely at the guest room of the Latvian property that Zemo had spirited them away to.
Zemo huffs a laugh, and steps forward into the room. “Thank you. But you are changing the subject.”
“Right, cause I didn't like the subject,” Bucky says with a warning tone.
“I wonder what you had planned for me, before fate made us co-conspirators,” Zemo plows ahead. He doesn't come closer to Bucky; instead he wanders over to the window, and watches the lights of the traffic crossing the nearby river bridge. The streetlights just outside cast a pale orange glow, and throw fuzzy shadows up the high ceilings of the room.
Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, and presses his palms into the duvet.
“I think you know very well, now, how exactly I was wronged,” Zemo continues. “But how did you expect to make it right? I was one of the first on your list; surely you thought about it.”
He had thought about it. What Zemo wanted was unrealistic. Especially now. Pandora's box was wide open—superhumans weren't going anywhere.
Bucky's part in that—the Winter Soldier's part in that—was having helped create more. Having killed for HYDRA, and for SHIELD.
“You're not going to be happy to see Karli Morgenthau and these Flag Smashers in prison somewhere, are you?” Bucky asks. “You're gonna kill them if we let you anywhere near them.”
“Well,” Zemo replies. “If they are in prison, there is the chance they will break out. Or, be broken out. You would be surprised how often that happens,” he drawls. “The way to keep people safe from 'superheroes' fighting their ideological wars is to be rid of them. With everything you have seen, you still don't agree?”
Bucky's mouth flattens in a tight line. He's just been thinking about how to stop them, not what the right move would be afterwards. Normally the judgment call would be Steve's.
“You know, you are the only super soldier I know of who was an entirely unwilling candidate.”
Bucky blinks. Frowns. He turns, shifting on the mattress, and looks over at Zemo. “Are you gonna try to pretend you see me as a victim? Seriously?”
Zemo turns away from the window. “There are many victims in this situation, James. You are clearly one of them. You were not responsible for what you did under HYDRA's command, or even under mine. I told you already that it was nothing personal. But, you are too dangerous to be left alone. All of you.”
He remembers the sound of Steve's shield pounding into the chest of Tony Stark's armour, watching from the frozen concrete of that HYDRA bunker. Everything Steve's team had to endure because of Zemo, and because of him. His teeth clench. He stands, and makes his way toward the door.
“Стоп, cолдат.” Zemo says. Stop, soldier.
Bucky stops. His hands clench by his sides. He lets out a shaky breath.
“Ah,” Zemo whispers. He steps slowly up to Bucky's shoulder. His face is turned up, watching Bucky's eyes. Watching whatever is on his face. “And if I were not here, what would you do with them?”
I don't kill people anymore, he wants to say. But he killed people today. So he stays quiet.
“What would Sam do?” Zemo presses.
“He'll turn them in,” He answers immediately. Steve would've done the same.
“And is that the correct decision? You were turned in for your crimes. Are you no longer a threat? Is the world safe from the Winter Soldier? Do you feel better, now that you are free?”
Bucky closes his eyes.
“Will you trust me to keep you in line?”
His eyes snap back open. His head turns. He stares at Zemo, incredulous. “You hate super soldiers that much, and you still want to have one on a leash?”
Zemo smiles. He steps forward, coming to face him directly. “Do you think there should be more people like you, out there? Or do you want to stop them?”
Bucky's jaw clenches.
“I will ask you again: Can you trust me to keep you under control?”
Trust? He barely trusted Steve to keep people safe from him. And Steve had had the strength and the moral compass to actually do something if he lost his mind.
“Trust you?” He glares. “No. But...go ahead, try it,” he adds. “If you see me go off the deep end, tell me to stop. Who knows, it might get through to me.”
“Well, perhaps it will be more comfortable for everyone, at the very least.”
Right. Comfortable.
Zemo steps away, and Bucky feels himself relax minutely from the tension, like static dissipating.
“Sam mentioned that you have been granted a pardon,” Zemo says. He's sat down in one of the upholstered wooden chairs in the corner of the room. His finger idly traces a groove in the carved wooden arm, up and down.
“Not anymore, I bet,” Bucky sighs. He grabs the handle to the door, and gently pulls it almost closed, so their conversation doesn't spill down the hall. “Sam'd been one of the people who vouched for me.” The Wakandans had, as well. He hadn't forgotten that when Ayo found him, earlier. “But there's a condition that I keep everything on the straight and narrow.”
“I suppose you broke that condition when you freed me.”
“Yeah. If that didn't do it, then probably masquerading as the Winter Soldier and starting fights in Madripoor was the last nail in that coffin.” He hasn't checked his phone to see how bad the inevitable cell footage was. He knows it's bad, he doesn't need to wallow in it.
“Small blessing that we aren't travelling to America, then,” Zemo says. “Of course, you can blame your actions on my control, but I suspect that will make things worse for you. Or, at least in the short term.”
“I knew what I was signing up for,” Bucky mumbles. He sits on the edge of the bed again, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together.
“And I suppose your book of names has something to do with your pardon, as well.”
Bucky shoots Zemo a dark glare, but it has no effect.
“Admirable of you to want to make amends.”
“It was my therapist's idea,” he growls.
“And yet,” Zemo responds, leaning forward, “you were more insistent about keeping it safe than you have been about anything else. I have to assume that it means something to you.”
Bucky lets out a long breath. “I guess.”
“Скажи правду, солдат.”
Bucky raises his head. His eyes trace back and forth over Zemo's expression. “...the names are important, okay? If I'm gonna try to make it up to those people, I can't treat the book like crap. I have to be serious about it.”
“It's a matter of respect, for you.”
He lets his head hand from his shoulders. “Yeah, it is.” Suddenly he feels so tired.
“What will you do once you have finished?” Zemo asks.
“If I ever finish...I dunno.” He sighs. “I'm not thinking that far ahead.”
There is a long silence. “I can certainly understand.” There is a sound as Zemo shifts, and stands. “I should prepare for tomorrow, and then get some rest. And so should you.” He steps forward, coming to stand a few feet in front of Bucky. "I appreciate your show of faith, James.”
It's not faith. If he's faithful to anybody at all, it's still probably the Wakandans. He owes them everything. “It's nothing personal,” he says. “You're a means to an end. Don't try to psychoanalyze me again.”
Zemo's mouth pulls into a wry smile. “Touché. Very well.” He steps to the door, and pulls it open, pausing in the doorway. “Молодец, солдат. Хорошего отдыха.”
Well done, Soldier. Rest well.
He tries.