Chapter Text
*
When the trail to Karli went cold, Zemo fled across the country in the direction of the Russian border. He’d learnt long ago that it was wise to know when it was best to retreat. He had no information about Karli Morgenthau’s whereabouts. After so long spent in prison and so much change in the world, he had no connections left in Latvia. Morgenthau’s own network was extensive, and she and her acolytes had disappeared like rabbits into the vast warren of Europe. It would take skill and a lot of patience to unearth her, and Zemo needed somewhere to lay low while he made his preparations.
The safehouse in Riga had not been one in the true sense of the word. It was just an apartment owned by his family, which he’d stayed in only occasionally over the years. He’d never dreamt of using it for the kind of work he used to do, which he’d once again become engaged in.
Luckily, Zemo knew that nearby was another safehouse he’d used during his EKO scorpion days, when he’d hunted HYDRA and those who sought to recreate the super soldier serum.
The safehouse was a barn not far from the Russian border and by his own estimation it had taken him about five hours to run there from Riga. Zemo had considered stealing a car, but with his new found speed and stamina he found that he had little need of it. But by the time he reached the site, it was growing dark and he realized that the lack of transport might have been a mistake. He was so tired he felt like he needed to lie down and sleep for at least a day. The exhaustion wasn’t muscle soreness, precisely. It was more like his mind was growing foggy as his energy rapidly depleted. The fact that he hadn’t even noticed the exhaustion creeping up on him was unsettling. The closest thing that he could compare it to was the crash from stimulants like amphetamines or cocaine, with the conspicuous absence of a high.
Zemo wearily approached the barn and to his dismay found that it was chained shut with a thick metal padlock. It was rusty, but when he shook it he realized that the rust was merely a coating, and that the steel beneath it still held strong. It probably could have held out against a tractor, and Zemo knew that in his present condition he didn’t have the strength to pull it off. Cursing in Sokovian, he grabbed two of the metal links and concentrated all of his strength into snapping the two apart.
Once broken, the chain sagged and Zemo sank to the ground exhausted. He was tempted to fall asleep right there in the open, but he forced himself to get to his feet. Each step took tremendous effort, but he managed to stumble inside and bolt the door behind him. Then he slumped down, and the world around him went dark.
When he came to, Zemo found himself lying on the dirty concrete of the barn floor. He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but when he tried to stand his legs felt like jelly.
“What’s happening to me?”, he muttered, rubbing his head.
No one replied. He was alone in the dark.
Realizing how vulnerable he was in this state made him feel afraid. He would be unable to resist capture if anyone came after him. He doubted that he could even bargain his way out of a situation, in this incoherent state. His tongue felt heavy, and his thoughts jumbled. He didn’t know if these were normal symptoms after receiving the serum, or if there was something badly wrong with him.
Perhaps I’m dying. Just another failed super soldier experiment. He tried to put those thoughts out of his mind, but it wasn’t easy.
He wished that James was here. The man hadn’t mentioned that something like this might occur, but they’d had no chance to talk. Everything happened so fast. Perhaps I should have stayed put in Riga, instead of running. It’s so hard to think…to be certain of anything.
Noticing that his thoughts were beginning to spiral, Zemo mentally took a step backwards and observed them rushing past him. It was as if he were standing on a hill watching the wind blowing clouds across a vast, blue sky. So fast they moved, there was no catching hold of any of them.
Zemo took another step back. Life in prison had been dull and monotonous, and yet reliably predictable. Clearly he had grown used to that way of living. He wasn’t used to unpredictability or danger anymore, and his nerves felt electrified. It was both exciting, and terrifying, and he actually felt…alive. For the first time in a long time. Was that why he was suddenly afraid to die?
Alive, yes. He knew inside that he wasn’t going to die. Not yet, at least. And not by any hand but his own.
Well, I might make an exception for James.
Unwilling to dwell on the feeling any further, Zemo fumbled for the light switch and located it after several attempts. He blinked as the fluorescence illuminated the room. The first thing he noticed was the large black jeep parked close to him. The vehicle was discrete enough to pass for civilian one, but hardy enough to navigate terrain off road. Behind it there was a small kitchen with a sink, a portable stop top with a gas canister and a sturdy metal chest which he knew contained food supplies. Next to that, there were lockers full of computer hardware, fake identification documents, medical supplies, clothing, survival gear and quite a significant amount of weapons and ammunition.
Zemo hesitated, his hand on the first locker. What was the combination? He had all of them memorized, but it took him a few minutes to recall the information. His heart sank slightly when he realized that this one was his son Karl’s birthday.
Not now. I don’t have time to dwell on the past.
He realised then that he was ravenously hungry, and quickly unlocked the food chest. Not caring what he ate, Zemo wolfed down a jar of preserved pears and a cold can of soup. He barely tasted it, and just glad that he was satiated and he no longer felt like he was going to pass out.
He wondered if James experienced this after exerting himself physically. Or perhaps he wasn’t as strong as James, who had been exposed to more of the serum than himself.
I need to understand how this works, Zemo realised. If I am to hunt down Karli and the Flag Smashers, I need to learn my own limitations.
*
Once Bucky had checked out of his hotel room, he hired a car and began driving to the location that King T’Challa had given him.
It’s almost in Russia, Bucky thought. Been a long time since I was there, but that’s still not long enough.
Though it was spring as he drove across the country, the sky ahead of him was growing dark and grey. It wasn’t long before snow began to fall.
He was looking up at it, head tilted back so that it was like he was flying through space among the stars. If they ever made it to space, he wanted to go there.
HYDRA were considering it, he knew. If there was intelligent life out there somewhere in the universe, HYDRA’s mission wouldn’t be complete until they’d colonised it all. Handler Karpov had been talking about that last night, while he’d been playing cards and drinking with his men. He’d lit cigarette after cigarette as if he needed to keep inhaling the smoke to live. The Winter Soldier had been trained not to listen in on his handler’s conversations, but he remembered that Karpov wanted soldiers who would be fit to colonize Mars.
The soldier knew that as hard as he tried, he would never be perfect. No matter how many successful missions he accomplished for his handler, it would never be enough. HYDRA deserved better than him; soldiers who were stronger, faster, deadlier.
According to the American division of HYDRA, there was a scientist in the USA who had successfully reproduced Erskine’s serum. It was far superior to the work that little troll Zola had done creating the asset. The soldier wanted to bring it to handler Karpov, because that was what HYDRA wanted. And no one would stand in his way.
A large truck rushed past him on the road, spraying Bucky’s windshield with water and obscuring his vision.
“Fuck you!” he cursed, slamming his foot on the brakes. “Fucking asshole!”
The car came to a stop. Luckily, there were no other vehicles on the road.
Bucky realised that he’d switched into what he thought of as ‘mission mode’, and he’d been automatically following the sat nav for hours while his mind wandered. Those memories were not ones he should be thinking about right now, especially while driving.
I don’t wanna crash. And I’m gonna crash if I disassociate like that again.
Even for a super soldier, he knew the potential injuries of an accident like that could be rough as hell. And then he’d never catch Zemo before he disappeared.
Zemo. Bucky closed his eyes and inhaled shakily, remembering Madripoor and the feeling of the Baron’s hand tightening on his leather harness. Pulling him back from the past and holding him securely. Somehow, the thought of that made him feel a lot better and after a few minutes his breathing began to return to normal again.
Bucky opened his eyes slowly. Maybe Sam was right and Zemo had managed to get inside his head. But…maybe that wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
Jesus, that’s fucked up, Bucky thought wearily . But hey, what else is new?
He glanced at the phone laying on the passenger seat. Sam said he could call him, if he was in too deep. Bucky hesitated a moment longer, and then he picked up the phone. He held it to his ear and waited for his friend to answer.
But there was no response.
He realised then that Sam’s phone would be switched off because was on his flight back to the US.
Bucky put the phone down. It wasn’t a big deal , he told himself. He could handle Zemo, and according to the map he was almost at the safehouse.
*
Zemo stood holding a mug of coffee as he pored over the data displayed on the laptop. It was gleaned by a program he’d run to search for information on Flag Smasher forums. But following the events of the last few days, Zemo knew that it was already outdated. Karli would change whatever plans she had made, following what had occurred with Walker. But still, several of the locations he’d found would make sense as bases of operations. And if she was planning on laying low as he suspected, it was likely that large European cities with high numbers of displaced people would be reasonable places to begin searching for information.
They won’t have crossed the border to Russia, Zemo mused. He knew that they would need connections to the government in order to be able to operate there . Karli Morgenthau was a young woman, with no connections to any government or person of influence. That is, besides the Power Broker, who would presumably hunting Karli too.
And James will be hunting me.
Zemo took out a notebook from the pocket of his coat. James’s notebook. The one with Zemo’s own name written in it so carefully in pencil. One in a list, of course. But still, it clearly had significance to James. Zemo suspected that the name represented a promise that he intended to keep.
He’d tried to put thoughts of James aside while he focused on the task at hand, but as he was packing supplies into the vehicle he found that they kept straying back to the man. He couldn’t help wondering what their unfinished business might entail. In situations such as this, Zemo imagined every possibility and followed it through to its natural conclusion so that nothing would surprise him.
James wants me to return to Berlin. James wants to hand me over to the US military, to the CIA, to Wakanda, to Sam Wilson. James wants to put a gun to my head and look into my eyes as he pulls the trigger. James wants me to be the one holding the gun, and he wants me to pull the trigger myself.
Zemo paused, noticing a long rectangular box stashed under the backseat of the jeep. He pulled it out and opened it slowly, almost reverently. Inside lay a rapier lying on a bed of purple velvet. It had been a long time since he’d last seen this sword. He held it up, and the cold steel gleamed harshly under the fluorescent lighting.
He allowed muscle memory to take over as his body as he shifted into a fighting stance. He flourished the sword, and the years melted away from him and he was sixteen again, first learning to fence. He chided himself for wasting time indulging in nostalgia, but found that he couldn’t help himself. It was rare for a memory not to be a source of pain for him. He wondered if James had the same experience, when it came to the past.
The Winter Soldier was said to be an artist with a blade, Zemo thought. But James seems to prefer using his fists.
With a reluctant sigh, Zemo stopped and placed the sword back in the case. Time to stop being such a sentimental old fool.
As he finished making his preparations, he wondered if James would truly pursue him. He hoped that he would. And if he did, he was curious just how far James would follow him down the path he intended to walk.
If need be, he would walk it alone. Zemo was no stranger to that. But it would be nice to have company for once.
And I’d want to see just how good with a blade he really is.
*
When Bucky finally pulled up at the barn, he found it unlocked. Zemo had been here, and he’d cleared out whatever had been stored there. Weapons most likely, and he took a vehicle of some kind.
Bucky noticed something lying on the countertop and walked over to it. Anger surged through him when he recognised his notebook. How the hell had Zemo managed to steal it without me noticing? He snatched it up and flipped through. No, he hadn’t written in it. The asshole hadn’t gone that far, at least.
A piece of paper fell out onto the floor and Bucky stooped to pick it up. There was a series of numbers, coordinates. And underneath, written in immaculate penmanship:
Catch me if you can, James
-Z