Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It isn’t quite the sound of birds chirping nearby that wakes him. It’s not the softness of the sheets he’s tangled in either. It’s not even the subtle smell of grilling bacon. It’s more than that. It’s a combination of all three, but also the lasting feeling that something is wrong.

Bucky sits up on the bed, eyes haggard, breath short, heartbeat rising as he realises he has no idea where he is.

His first instinct is to run as far as possible from this place, but he has at least the sense to stop and assess his surroundings first.

He is indeed sat atop a bed. A very large bed amidst a rather large bedroom. Bare-chested, he is relieved to notice that he is wearing boxer shorts under the silk-soft bedsheets. The cloth is grey with purple embroidery, matching the pillows and bedspread that lies in a heap at the foot of the massive mattress.

Facing him is a chest of drawers on top of which sit a couple of frames. Unfocussed and dazed, Bucky doesn’t register what the photographs represent, because his eyes catch something else.

On his left, two panels of carved wood hide a balcony. Beyond that, he can barely make sunlit land; the lush green of it, paired with the style of the room and beddings, telling him exactly where it is he currently finds himself.

When the Hell did he get to Wakanda, and what was this place?

A bird lands on the balcony railing, making him jump slightly, and he sighs, forcing his breath to go back to normal.

Absent-mindedly, he checks the rest of his person. His dog-tags are in place, as is his vibranium arm. However, when he runs the hand of it through his hair and down his face to try and shake the lingering feeling of wrong, he starts again when he feels something that definitely wasn’t there the previous day.

There is a ring on his finger. On his vibranium finger. And the band is obviously made of the same metal.

This time, Bucky freaks out properly.

The smell of cooking nearby tells Bucky that he is not alone wherever it is he landed, so he is extra careful when he goes in search of the first clothes he can find. He finds a black t-shirt that falls a bit too loose around the shoulders; but no pants.

That’s when he realises that the bed isn’t resting against a wall, not really. It’s been put against a partition, and on the other side of it lies a fucking closet.

Again, he grabs the first pair of jeans he sees – this one fits perfectly – as well as shoes, and does not clock the very different styles of garments that have been folded and tidied to perfection on the other side of the closet.

When he exits the bedroom, silent as a deadly feline, Bucky looks at the rest of the house. There’s another room on the landing, no doubt a bathroom of some sort, and rich wooden steps lead downstairs and to the source of the delicious smell.

There is someone humming a song, and the former soldier is half-poised to grab the first bronze statuette he sees to bash his kidnapper’s head in.

This house might be decidedly Wakandan, but he has no fucking idea how he got here or why…

He enters the room directly below the bedroom, a huge sitting-room with sliding doors leading to a paved patio and a large garden giving onto the fucking jungle. He can see a couple of lounging chairs, and the hint of a hammock, before the sound of cutlery hitting porcelain makes him jump in fright again.

The whole thing puzzles him like nothing else, but the house and the ring on his fucking finger are nothing compared to the sight that greets him in the kitchen.

Standing in front of a cooker, humming and stirring eggs to scramble them, hair mussed, half-unbuttoned white shirt and dark shorts on, is Baron Fucking Zemo.

It takes about half a second to notice the changes in his appearance since he last saw him. There’s the shadow of a beard covering his cheeks and chin; and quite a few strands of grey in his otherwise brown hair. He looks older than his 46 years of age. But he doesn’t really have time to wonder what prison does to people.

Bucky sees red. With a hiss, he takes four strides inside the room, barely registering the way the other man notices him and smiles widely before he pounces and grabs the criminal by the throat, slamming him against the kitchen island, hard enough to bruise. Not that he cares.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here, Zemo?” he growls, tightening his hold on the man’s throat.

Zemo’s eyes widen minutely, but he doesn’t move to defend himself. Instead, he studies his aggressor thoroughly, from the glare of his eyes to the downturn of his lips. Yet, still, he doesn’t fight.

Bucky reckons he should free his vocal cords for him to be able to answer, so he does, and pushes his vibranium arm across the Sokovian’s chest instead, keeping him pinned for a while longer.

“Good morning, James,” the Baron says in that infuriating deep voice of his. There’s a question in the words, though, one that Bucky doesn’t know how to answer yet. “Do you mind letting me go? The eggs are going to be ruined, and we don’t want the house to burn down, now, do we?”

Bucky forgot how absolutely impossible it was to deal with the man.

Instead of letting him go, however, he leans to the side and pushes the pan off the cooker, switching it off at the same time.

“Answer me, Zemo,” he growls again, though with less venom than before. “What are you doin’ here? What am I doin’ here?”

The Baron’s eyes do the same studying thing again, and this time, the man lifts a hand to the arm pinning him to gently move it away. Even though it’d be improbable for him to be able to overpower Bucky, the soldier effectively lets him move his arm away.

He catches a glimpse of Zemo’s right hand as it lowers the vibranium limb away from his chest, and his heart does this strange flip-flopping thing that makes him almost double over.

He’s gonna be sick.

There’s a matching ring on Zemo’s finger.

“What the fuck?!” he swears, moving away from the Sokovian and feeling the tell-tale first signs of an impending panic-attack rise in him. He starts struggling to breathe, and suddenly, the open-plan kitchen seems to close in on him.

Thankfully, Zemo doesn’t move closer. “James? James, please, calm down…” There’s a definite tint of worry in the man’s voice that makes Bucky look up at him. Sure thing: the Baron’s brown eyes are filled with curious fear. His hands, at his side, are clenched into fists, as if he’s forcing himself not to reach for the other man. “James? Moja láska?” The words do not register in Bucky’s mind, but he thinks it might be Sokovian.

His lack of response to the words, however, makes Zemo gasp. He unconsciously takes a pace back, pushing himself back into the counter. He jumps when he feels the cold stone of it bite into his hips, as if he’d forgotten it was there.

“James… What year is this?” he asks, and his voice is laced with dread.

Bucky’s eyes narrow, and he answers, as if the question was a stupid one: “2024, why?”

The Baron’s lips open into a painful exhale of breath. The man, who is usually so collected and careful with the emotions he shows on his face, is suddenly wrecked with the kind of pain that Bucky could never reconcile with the former Colonel.

He looks like he wants to take a knife and drive it through his own chest.

Then, slowly, his eyes drop to the floor, and he turns around to lean heavily on the counter. Bucky faces his back, puzzled by his enemy’s reaction.

Why was Zemo here? Why was he wearing a wedding ring similar to the band on his own finger?

What was all this?

“Mfo? Please ask Princess Shuri to come here at once. Tell her it’s a code purple.”

Bucky wonders why Zemo just used the Wakandan word for ‘dude’, but then, a disincarnated voice rises into the air, similarly to one of Tony Stark’s A.I.s.

“Right away, Sir,” the entity answers with a strong accent.

The Baron takes a few more steadying breaths before turning back to Bucky. He looks more collected than before, but for once, he avoids meeting his eyes. That’s enough of an oddity for Bucky to frown.

“James, what about sitting down, while we wait for the Princess to join us, uh? Unless you wish for breakfast… I’m afraid I’ve suddenly lost my appetite…”

Without a word more, he moves towards the sliding doors, and walks out onto the paved terrace, taking a seat at a table on which had been set plates, a teapot, mugs and a jug of fresh orange juice.

He winces when Bucky sits as far from him as possible.

Shuri arrives in exactly twelve minutes and thirty-four seconds. Bucky knows, because he counts every second of awkward and painful silence that draws on.

He doesn’t understand shit about this.

But once he sees T’Challa’s sister stroll through the grass of the open garden, he knows that he’s safe again. She’ll have answers.

“Umbulali, Wolf,” she greets, and Bucky’s surprised to hear her call Zemo ‘murderer’ in such a friendly tone, as if it’d become a pet name of sorts. “You called for a code purple?” she looks at the Baron, who nods before looking back at the garden, avoiding Bucky’s eyes once more.

Shuri sits on his right and produces a small case containing what looks like a pen that lights up on one end. He doesn’t like the look of it.

“Alright, Bucky, what’s the last thing you remember?”

He knows he can trust her, so he answers without hesitation. “I was at Sam’s. We were celebrating Sarah’s youngest kid’s birthday, we drank a bit, and I slept on the couch.”

Shuri’s brow furrows, but she nods thoughtfully. “The last time you celebrated A.J.’s birthday was here. Do you remember the date?”

“25^th August 2024.”

The Princess falters, and her dark eyes look up into his before going to Zemo. “2024. That’s…inconvenient.”

“Why?” he asks immediately. “Is something wrong with me?”

She sighs. “I’m not going to sugar-coat this, my friend: you seem to be missing quite a few memories.”

“How long?” he counters, throat constricting. It’s not the first time he’d be missing time. He’s used to it. But he thought he was free from all of that… What had happened?

Belatedly, he realises that Zemo twitched again, his gaze briefly meeting his, as if he was fighting the urge to comfort him. Again: odd.

“Four years,” Shuri says, sighing again. “You two weren’t even-”

“Can you help him?” Zemo interrupts her, and she looks surprised.

She keeps staring at the back of the Baron’s head even as she answers. “I’ll run some tests. There has to be a reason for this sudden amnesia. I’ll do my best to find out.”

The Sokovian nods before standing up abruptly. “I should probably go. James will not want me here while he cannot recall the past four years. Please let me know if I can do anything.” He doesn’t look back, just walks away, hands into fists at his side again.

Bucky watches him leave, confused. Four years. How could he have possibly lost four years’ worth of memories? “What the fuck’s goin’ on?”

Shuri looks back at him and places the prodding object on his temple. “I will fix this, don’t worry, Wolf.”

As Zemo’s silhouette disappears beyond a hedge, his eyes fall to the ring on his finger, and his throat constricts again when he remembers the other man wore a similar one.

“Shuri?” he asks, almost afraid to. “Am I married to Zemo?”

She sighs again. “I think you already know the answer to that question, Bucky.” Her voice is tense, laced with sorrow.

He does.

He is married to Helmut Fucking Zemo.

And he has no idea how that fucking happened.

Chapter Text

Processing all of that is a bit hard on Bucky.

Losing four years isn’t such a big deal, after all, he’s done that for eighty years, and is still missing quite a few chunks even now.

But learning that he’s basically married to a past enemy, a man who used him like a toy not once, but twice?

It’s too much.

Shuri’s been insightful enough to bring him a bucket to retch in, at least…

She prodded him a few times before he needed the bucket, and now, she’s toying with her kimoyo beads, brow furrowed as she goes through a list of constants that he doesn’t understand a word of.

“What’s wrong with me?” he croaks.

“Physically speaking,” she sighs, “nothing, my friend. Nothing is wrong with your brain, or your body. It is as if your mind has shut down for a reason or other…” She looks up at him, and arches a brow. “Has something happened last night? Did Umbulali do anything that would have triggered this?”

He sighs back. “Shuri… I can’t remember the past four years; how do you want me to remember last night?” The thought of Zemo doing anything marriage-related makes a new wave of nausea hit him, but he fights it, this time.

“True,” she says, packing her instrument back into the small case. “I’ve called Ayo. She should be here shortly.”

“Why Ayo?” Bucky asks, throat hoarse again. The last time he’d seen the warrior, he had disappointed her so thoroughly he was certain he’d never see her again…

“You tell her more things than you do me,” the Princess says with a smirk, before her gaze grows serious again. “I’ll run some more blood tests in my lab, just in case. Come by later today. I’ll talk to T’Challa about this.”

For a second, he thinks about stopping her from telling her brother, but he supposes that, if he’s broken again, the King should be informed. So he nods. “Thank you,” he says, and she smiles before leaving him to his thoughts.

While waiting for Ayo, Bucky goes back inside to rinse his mouth with tap water and studies this house he apparently lives in – he refuses to think about ‘with his husband’ because it still sickens him. Although the décor is definitely Wakandan, it is very tasteful, and here and there, one might catch references to the owners’ previous life. A castle made of clay in a study; a thirties-inspired personal gym adorned with a few pictures of him and Steve; and of course, the purple in the bedsheets and the towels and…well most of the upholstery is in one shade of purple or other.

When he enters the bedroom again, he finally notices the small things he’d glazed over earlier. Zemo’s trademark coat is hanging like a motherfucking pièce-de-resistance in the shared closet; and the two framed photographs are of their fucking wedding.

Bucky grabs one of the two frames in his human hand, scared he’d crush the thing with his vibranium fingers, and he grits his teeth, eyes hardening when he looks at the picture.

He and Zemo are both wearing suits. He’s clad in light-blue, Zemo in dark red – like the shade of a very expensive wine, of course – and they are surrounded by their group of friends. Sam has one arm draped around Bucky’s shoulders and is waving a bottle of champagne into the air; Sarah is hugging Zemo’s middle; A.J. is wrapped around Bucky’s legs like a snake; Cass is showing off inexistent muscles in front of Zemo’s; Sharon is jumping behind them with a bashful look on her face; an old man Bucky belatedly remembers as Zemo’s butler is smiling to the side; T’Challa and Shuri are lying on the grass at their feet, pulling faces; and Ayo and Okoye are standing very still, very regally, on Zemo’s other side.

Zemo, whose smile is so wide it looks like it’d give him cramps.

Bucky cannot say that he’s ever seen the man so obviously happy; but it’s worse when he looks at his own face. Because he’s looking at the camera, all teeth, eyes crinkling at the sides as he laughs. He looks so…well, yes, happy.

He slams the frame back onto the dresser, but it doesn’t break.

He doesn’t even glance at the other photograph.

“There you are, White Wolf.”

Ayo is one of the very few people who can sneak up on him to a degree. Generally, it takes him maximum three minutes to notice she’s following him. Given his current state of mind, though, it isn’t surprising that he hasn’t been aware of her climbing the stairs and joining him into the room.

“Hey Ayo,” he sighs, lost. “Shuri told you?”

“She told me that you were missing some memories, but she did not elaborate.”

That’s her unspoken way of asking him to elaborate, and he chuckles darkly before going to sit on the bed. It still feels too much like being in a strange and unknown place, despite the personal touches that claim the space as partly his.

He chooses to ignore the purple beddings for now.

“I woke up this morning with four fucking years missing.”

The warrior stares at him, and merely blinks before saying “I see.” Slowly, she comes to sit on the bed. “Any idea what might have triggered such a wipe?”

A wipe. She sure hates sugar-coating things… As if the word itself isn’t going to make him freak the hell out…

“None.”

“Hasn’t Isidenge got an idea?”

Passing a weary hand over his eyes, he chuckles again. “Is that the way you call Zemo? Idiot?”

“Yes,” she says with a hint of a smile. She stares at him, and Bucky realises she’s still waiting for his answer.

“I… I don’t know. He…left. After Shuri got here.”

“I see,” she repeats, though this time her lips are pursed. “I should not be surprised. You woke up not remembering you were ever in love with him to begin with. He has a tendency to sacrifice himself for your sake, even when he shouldn’t.”

“How long?” he asks then, eyes fleetingly going to the photos on the dresser. “How long have we-?” the lump in his throat stops him from finishing his trail of thoughts, but she’s got it.

“You have been married for two years and a little over nine months. I believe you were together for another year before that. You were always very vague about the circumstances of your…coming together.”

He winces. “I fell in love with Zemo. The man who used me.”

“The man who made amends for that, as well,” Ayo says, and he’s so surprised to hear her defend the man that he turns wide shocked eyes to her, which makes her smirk once more. “I still don’t like him, but he is not that bad. And you are good for each other.”

“I still can’t believe I’ve lost four years, Ayo… How am I supposed to go on?”

“Your memories may come back to you, James,” the Dora says, more serious than ever. “When they do, everything will be alright. But, in the meantime, do not push your husband away. He could help you more than you think.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it is not the first time something similar has happened. Although then, you had ‘only’ forgotten two weeks.”

It’s a shock. If it hasn’t been the first time, then something is definitely wrong with him…

Ayo sighs and stands, gesturing to the door. “Come take a walk with me. And maybe,” she adds, a strange look on her face that resembles…bashfulness? “call Sam as well. He might help too.”

Bucky doesn’t dwell on her tone or the way she avoids his gaze after that. He just stands and follows her out.

The house’s garden extends at the back, but up front, Bucky is surprised to find a small pen with a couple of goats.

Ayo catches his gaze and chuckles. “You claim they help you settle.”

He nods absent-mindedly, turning to face the house – his home – once more. “When did I move to Wakanda, Ayo?”

She starts walking at a very leisure pace, as if they aren’t going anywhere, just enjoying the warm late morning. “Almost four years ago, you and Sam defeated the last remnants of HYDRA. You decided that you had given enough of yourself to the world, and asked our King to be able to retire here. You said Wakanda was the only place you’d ever felt peace.”

He nods again. It’s true. For a while, when he lived here, in a small hut with a few goats to tend to, he was at peace for the first time in his long life. Before…well, before Thanos came to wreck it all… “And this house?”

“You created it,” Ayo says simply. “You designed it with Shuri, and Nakia, and…Zemo, when he came.”

Bucky feels a lump form in his throat, but he carries on walking, the fingers of his right hand toying with the ring taunting him. “When was that?”

“A few weeks later. The Raft proved to be unsafe for the inmates, and since Zemo was our responsibility, we brought him here. He quickly made amends with the King and his family, and so, he was granted relative freedom.” She pauses. “He can’t leave Wakanda. But he has not shown any wish to. Not since you got together.”

“It’s still hard to imagine how that happened,” Bucky says with a dark chuckle.

“Is it?” she says, stopping and turning to face him, a small smirk on her lips. “Is it really, James?”

He stops to ponder her words too. Zemo and his meeting was disastrous, there is no denying it. The Sokovian might have had good reason to go after the Avengers, but he violated Bucky’s mind and free-will to such extent… Then again, he remembers the Flag-Smashers affair much more fondly.

He remembers seeing Zemo through the glass of his Berlin prison for the first time in years. Remembers the pang in his chest, feeling some sort of acceptance. The Baron knows everything about him. Everything. Every corner of his dark mind. And there is no denying that Zemo has never shown an ounce of disgust towards him either.

Rather the contrary.

Bucky sighs as he remembers this morning, too. The flash in Zemo’s eyes when he pinned him to the kitchen counter. More than surprise, or fear, there had been a definite tint of arousal in his warm brown eyes.

It makes him feel weird.

“I don’t know,” he finally answers.

Ayo hums thoughtfully before walking on. “If you have more questions, it is better if you ask Zemo directly, you know.”

“I’m not sure I can face him right now,” the tone of his voice makes him feel a bit ashamed. He’s too vulnerable for comfort.

But thankfully, he’s around friends, and Ayo does not judge him at all when she answers. “I understand. Perhaps tomorrow, then.”

Yes, perhaps tomorrow, he muses.

Perhaps tomorrow, his memories would come back.

And he’ll be fixed.

Wishful thinking, he knows.

They continue walking in silence, after that. Ayo surely wants to give him space to think, which he is insanely grateful for. But at the same time, burying himself in thoughts and painful what-ifs is not exactly helping, either.

The more he thinks about everything, the more confused it leaves him. So far, he’s gathered that he found peace in Wakanda and married Zemo for love, as stupid as it sounds. So why would his brain decide that it was a good idea to erase all that from his memory and to leave him as a broken shell once again?

Ayo silently guides him up to the hill on top of which the back of the palace lays. She enters it, not caring to see if he follows her, but once he realises she’s bringing him back to Shuri, he relaxes.

The long corridor leading to the Princess’s lab has always been ‘fun’ to cross, because Shuri has made it her life’s mission to collect timeless Wakandan artefacts to shelf on each side of it, the almost clinical white walls brought to life by old warrior masks and previous Black Panthers’ uniforms.

Bucky’s gaze, which was studying a Panther’s cloak from the Middle Ages, is rapidly distracted by a flurry of movement on the far side of the corridor. His heart misses a beat and his breath catches when he recognizes Zemo, who promptly freezes when he sees Ayo and him approach.

Even from afar, Bucky can see the Baron’s pained eyes upon him, notices his throat working around what must be an uncomfortable lump. He knows, because he suddenly feels the same kind in his own throat.

A second passes, then six more, before Zemo turns and properly flees the scene.

Bucky’s body makes to follow, unsettled by the man’s pain, as foolish as it sounds. But while his torso makes to run towards him, his feet remain firmly attached to the ground.

For the life of him, he can’t decide if he’s grateful to his legs for having refused to move; or if he’s disappointed.

Ahead of him, Ayo sighs. “I’d hoped never to go through this again.” She swear in Xhosa, then continues towards Shuri’s lab.

Bucky doesn’t ask her what she means.

“Well, at least the good thing is that your brain isn’t fired yet, Wolf,” Shuri tells him about ten minutes later while he’s perched on her ‘operating table’.

He has spent the last ten minutes observing the changes in her that he hadn’t paid attention to that morning but that show she’s more woman than girl now.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “So it really is psychosomatic?” Shuri appears surprised that he knows the word, but he’s had his fair share of therapists. ‘Psychosomatic’ is one of their favourite smart words.

It once won him a game of Scrabble against Sam.

“Yes, it seems that way,” Shuri answers, apologetic. “Maybe tomorrow, they’ll have come back…”

“Yeah…” he says with an entirely unconvinced chuckle. “Thanks, Shuri.” He jumps off the table and makes to leave.

“Have you talked to Umbulali yet?”

Her question stops him, barely. He doesn’t turn when he answers. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Shuri doesn’t stop him again.

Bucky walks back home in a self-destructive daze. He just cannot comprehend what’s happening to him right now. His life seems to be so perfect, so quiet, so peaceful… Why would his fucked-up brain decide to erase it all from his memory?

When he reaches the house, the first thing he does is go upstairs to grab a pillow and a blanket, because there is no way on Earth he is sleeping in that bed that night.

On a whim, he also grabs his and Zemo’s wedding picture.

He’s staring at it, heart pounding in his chest, when he calls the house’s A.I., recalling the name Zemo used that morning.

“Mfo?” he tries.

“Yes, Mr Barnes?” the disincarnate voice immediately answers, and Bucky then notices that it’s coming from a small roundish device on the dining-table.

“Can you call Sam for me?”

“It is currently 7am in Louisiana,” the A.I. says instead.

Bucky sighs. “I’ll take the risk.”

There isn’t a single sound disturbing the silence for a moment, before Sam’s sleepy voice echoes in Bucky’s living-room. Bucky and Zemo’s living-room.

“Hey man, I need my beauty sleep from time to time, you know! What’s up?”

Bucky closes his eyes, grateful that Sam, at least, is still such a constant in his fucked-up life. He whispers “Code purple” and for a second, it feels like Sam hasn’t heard him.

But then he says “How long?” in a tone that tells him his friend is already planning a flight to Wakanda and he’s so relieved it hurts.

“Four years.”

“Shit.” Ain’t that the truth. “How is Helmut taking things?”

Bucky’s tempted to tell him what he wants to know, but instead, he clings to something else that makes him snort. “Zemo let you call him by his first name?”

Sam huffs through the line. “He hates it. So I gotta do it.”

“’Course.”

“You didn’t answer me, Buck.”

Bucky stares at the photo in his lap again. “He’s gone. Figured I wouldn’t want him near me.”

“Yeah, no surprise there. I’ll call him. He’s at Oeznik’s, right?”

Bucky frowns. He recognizes the name, of course, but the question puzzles him. “Oeznik lives in Wakanda?”

“Yeah man! Never far from his syn. Never mind, I’ll call and see where he’s at. You’ll be okay ‘til I get there, Buck?”

He huffs. “Not a kid anymore, Sam.”

His friend pauses before saying “Yeah, you’ll be fine. See you in a bit. Eat something.” He adds hurriedly before hanging up.

Leaving Bucky in utter silence.

Chapter Text

It’s once again the chirping of birds and the feeling that something isn’t right that wake Bucky the following morning.

He opens his eyes and sighs, immediately realising that 1. he is lying on his and Zemo’s couch in Wakanda; and 2. his memories are still missing.

He also notes that, despite the rather stressful day he experienced yesterday, he hasn’t had any nightmares. That puzzles him.

When he makes his way to the kitchen, it takes him half a second to remember Zemo cooking breakfast the previous morning; but strangely enough, there isn’t trace of said breakfast anywhere: no pan with half-scrambled eggs, no jug of orange juice or teapot on the patio’s table.

Bucky guesses someone has come to clear it up while he was out with Ayo. He wouldn’t be surprised if he and Zemo have a cleaning person working for them.

After grabbing bread and butter, he explores the kitchen’s cabinets to find a glass for his water, then freezes. There’s a whole freaking cabinet dedicated to packet upon packet of tea. Black, green, white, infusions, flower blossoms… Bucky clocks the fact that the ‘cherry-blossom’ packet is up front and seems like it’s almost empty, and his heart breaks a little.

He remembers Zemo brewing that exact same tea back in Riga; clad in his stupid coat, he’d looked ridiculous, doting on the task like that.

Ridiculously cute, his brain provides, and he has no idea where that came from.

After eating breakfast, alone with his thoughts, Bucky tidies up, straightens the cushions he used as extra pillows last night, and picks up the photo he left on the table.

He’s staring at it, heart breaking further when faced with the happiness in his eyes, when the A.I. shakes him off his quiet contemplation.

“Mr Barnes?”

“Yes, Mfo?” he answers automatically, thumb somehow caressing his and Zemo’s faces on the picture.

“You have a message from Mr Wilson. Shall I read it to you?”

Sam. Bucky hopes his friend has good news, and says “Yes, please” in an eager tone.

Mfo’s voice turns into Sam’s, although void of any emotion, which is entirely disturbing. “Hey, Buck, I managed to escape HR for a few days. It’s an emergency after all! I’ll give Sarah the heads-up before leaving. I’ll be there tomorrow morning, Wakandan time. Hang in there, bud!”

The disincarnate voice fades and leaves Bucky in silence.

Sam is coming. He just has to wait another day.

Then again, when he stares at the picture in his hands again, he feels like holing himself up here is a bit too cowardly to his taste.

So, instead, he says “Mfo, give me Oeznik’s address, please.”

“Right away, Mr Barnes.”

Oeznik lives in the city, in a two-storey building situated in a neighbourhood that could be the Wakandan equivalent of Notting Hill. There’s a park in the same street and a square where Bucky once ventured to sell goat milk at the daily market.

To his surprise, it isn’t the elderly butler who opens the door when he knocks, though. It’s Zemo.

His big brown eyes widen when he sees Bucky, and the hope that flares in them is quickly extinguished by the same excruciating anguish he’s displayed the previous day.

It makes Bucky want to punch himself in the chest, because his heart can’t take it anymore.

“Good morning, James” says the Baron in a voice that barely hides the pain.

Bucky stares at him, then blurts out “I want you to come home, Zemo.”

His husband looks surprised, and with reason: the phrasing is better suited for a teen romcom than for two former enemies.

Still, Zemo sighs, and gestures him inside. “Come in, there’s some tea on the table.”

Bucky follows him blindly up the stairs and into a small sitting-room decorated like an old-fashioned house from Europe. Nothing looks Wakandan at all.

He looks around, clocks the numerous pictures on the wall that look like Zemo at various points of his life, then notices the absence of the house’s owner.

Zemo reads his face like a book – some things definitely don’t change – and explains. “Oeznik has gone to his weekly brunch with Queen Ramonda. You will not remember, but they have become fast friends.” He sits in an armchair, and signals Bucky to sit in the other.

He’s somehow glad there isn’t a sofa in this place.

“I did not expect you to come here, James.” Steel blue eyes meet honey brown, and for a moment, Bucky doesn’t know how to answer. Then he does.

“You’re the one person who knows me best.”

Zemo quirks a brow. “Even if it’s the case here and now, the way that you must remember me right now doesn’t exactly exp-“

“No,” Bucky interrupts. “You’ve always been the one who knows me best.”

And ain’t that the truth…

Zemo knows everything about him. He knows more than Steve ever had, or Sam ever will.

It should scare him to death, but right now, he’s more than grateful that he’s apparently married to the one guy who will know how to handle this.

And the Sokovian’s stare is both too affectionate and too knowing right now, so he grabs a teacup and sips from it.

After a moment of silence, Zemo asks “How do you want me to help?”

Bucky stares again, tries to find answers in those brown orbs, but he only finds the selflessness of the man willing to let him set the pace.

“I want you to come back to the house to live with me. Maybe having you there will jostle my memory. I will sleep on the couch,” he adds quickly, and there’s another unmistakeable pang of hurt in Zemo’s eyes.

“Do you want me to talk about us?”

Us. Bucky shivers upon hearing it, but it’s no longer revulsion that runs through him, rather…unease. Progress.

“Yeah,” he concedes. “Maybe it’ll help too. And Sam’s coming.”

Suddenly, he feels like he sneaked behind his parents’ back, but supposes the feeling must be somewhat similar with life-partners.

Zemo looks pleased. “That was a good idea. Sam often finds solutions when I can find none.” The admission stuns Bucky, but he doesn’t comment on it. “I need to tell Oeznik when he gets back. Is it okay with you if I come back this afternoon?”

With a wince, Bucky answers “It’s a date” that he immediately tries to smooth out with a “Sorry”.

Zemo looks surprised he feels sorry from him; but instead says “I’d have thought you’d have ripped the ring off your finger first chance you got…”

Bucky looks down at the vibranium ring on his left hand, and shrugs. “It’s a reminder I can be happy again.”

Zemo’s gaze is as intense on him as it has always been, but now, he definitely notices the not-so-subtle stares at his lips.

But he’s far from ready for that.

So he goes home, and starts tidying the place like he’s fifteen and waiting for his first crush.

Except he’s not crushing on Zemo, and he’s married to him already.

Not exactly knowing when ‘this afternoon’ was as far as Zemo’s concerned, Bucky ventures to the bathroom to take a shower. He can’t help but smile a bit when he sees the massive bathtub standing in the middle of the room, accompanied by dozens of tiny bottles of what looks like bath-oil.

He smells of sandalwood and ginger when he goes back downstairs and finds a Baron in the kitchen. Again.

When Zemo notices him, his mouth turns into a grimace. “Apologies. I showed myself in when I heard you were occupied.”

Bucky shrugs. “It’s your house too.”

The Sokovian doesn’t answer, instead deflects with a question of his own. “Had you planned dinner already?”

Bucky frowns. “Uh…no?”

Zemo nods with a smirk. “Some things never change.” His eyes are burning into Bucky’s face, and he almost blushes. “Burgers?”

The American’s eyes widen. “You know how to make burgers?”

Zemo laughs, the sound rather adorable, as disturbing as it seems. “I’m a good cook, James, despite my wealth. But you taught me how to make proper New-Yorker burgers. I hope it’ll help you remember…something.”

Bucky knows he doesn’t mean ‘remembering the recipe’ but rather the time he taught his former foe one of his grandmother’s better kept secrets.

He nods. “Good thinking.”

About twenty minutes later, there’s a Baron wearing a sunflower-printed apron in the kitchen, and a very flustered soldier next to him.

They are working quietly, lulled by the 30s music playlist that Zemo asked Mfo to play.

Bucky’s handling the meat, Zemo decorating the buns. He snorts when he sees the Sokovian rearrange the same tomato slice for the fifth time.

“Are you always that much of a perfectionist?” he asks mockingly.

Zemo’s eyes narrow in his direction, making him look like an angry puppy. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting a plate to be aesthetically pleasing.”

Bucky feels like messing with him a bit, so he reaches for the tomato slice and flicks it off the bun, along with a bit of lettuce.

Zemo gasps. “James!”

Bucky laughs, enjoying this a lot. When he realises that his teasing might be misconstrued as flirting, though, he sobers.

Zemo is mumbling in Sokovian as he rearranges his trashed work, but his gaze snaps up when Bucky asks “How did we get together?”

The Baron’s eyes are once again filled with pain, but there is also a hint of fondness in there, the pleasure of reminiscing something agreeable.

“When I was transferred out of the Raft, I found myself in a glass cell overseeing the Wakandan valleys and forests. I thought that was the most magnificent sight I’d seen, until I saw you waiting for me at the altar.”

His gaze is blazing, setting Bucky on fire without any chance of putting it out. The minced meat sizzles like his skin under such perusal, but he waits for Zemo to continue, as if fearing he’ll drop dead if he moves.

“You came to visit me quickly, first to mock my situation, then to empathise with it. After three weeks, a routine had settled: you’d train the Milaje, then you’d come talk to me until I received my dinner. After a month more, you convinced T’Challa to let you inside my cell, and I taught you how to play chess.”

Bucky’s tempted to tell him he knows how to play chess, but can already guess that Zemo thinks he’s rubbish at it. Instead, it’s another thought that escapes him. “So we fell in love over chess…” He chuckles, because how cliché!

Zemo chuckles back. “We did.”

Bucky smiles, content, somehow, to know something about this surprising relationship he remembers nothing about.

He turns back to his burgers, but somehow, he can feel Zemo’s smile at his back.

They eat out on the patio, surrounded by sounds of nature and the muffled bleats of the goats on the other side of the house.

Zemo has opened a bottle of wine, even though Bucky told him that a good burger has to be enjoyed with a cold beer and nothing else.

The Baron rolled his eyes and said “Keep your stupid brew to yourself, James, and let the civilized people enjoy some good wine” which made him snort in fake mockery.

They’re sitting across from one another, and Bucky watches Zemo eat like it’s some kind of foreign concept. When they’d ‘worked’ alongside each other, Zemo had eaten, sure, but never a full meal, and never in Sam’s and his presence. Here, he enjoys the food slowly, savouring each forkful like it’s going to be the last.

When Zemo catches him staring, he looks back at his own burger – that he chose to eat with his hands, the proper way – before deflecting with “So, I take it it’s good?”

Zemo chuckles. “Of course it’s good, James. You made it.”

Bucky feels like the version of him that Zemo’s married to would have leaned forward to kiss him for that cheesy compliment, but he’s not him, so he merely hides the blush that rises to his cheeks. “Thanks.”

“I thought we could watch a movie tonight,” Zemo continues, taking a sip of his stupid wine. “We usually do that at least twice a week, normally.”

Bucky shrugs. “Sure. Anything in mind?”

Zemo smiles. “I’ve got a list of things that you haven’t seen yet, and you have one for me. But this time, I think I want to rely on the familiar.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Bucky doesn’t pry. Somehow, he trusts the man to know what kind of film he enjoys.

He clings to another information instead. “I’ve got a list of things for you to watch?” he asks. “I bet it’s mostly oldies stuff, right?”

“Not necessarily, though often,” Zemo concedes in-between careful bites of burger, “we watched ‘Wuthering Heights’ not three months ago, for example. But sometimes, you surprise me with something recent. I have you to thank for my recent addiction to a show called ‘Batman: The animated series’.”

Bucky chokes on his beer. “Seriously? Cass and A.J. showed me that last Christmas! It’s old – for them anyway – but it’s so good!”

“I concur. I showed it to Oeznik thinking he’d like Alfred’s character, but he didn’t appreciate the parallels so much.”

They both chuckle together, then Bucky hums. “What character would we be in that show?” he ponders.

Zemo smirks. “You already had an opinion when we started watching it. Let’s see if it’s still the same now.”

He glares playfully at him, but keeps on pondering. He stares at Zemo unabashedly, thinking about everything that he knows about the man. His wealth alone could make him Bruce Wayne; but he was a villain. He is fashion-oriented, just like Selina Kyle; but the thought of the Baron as Catwoman is laughable. He then remembers about one character: rich, loyal to a fault, vengeful, a villain who often aids the heroes, and someone who is very partial to fur coats.

He smirks back at the man, and utters “You are Leonard Snart.”

Zemo smiles. It’s the kind of smiles that lights up a whole face, and the Baron’s is no exception. He looks amazing smiling like that, and Bucky feels something prickle him around his heart, inexplicably. “Captain Cold. You chose him last time too.”

“What about me?” he asks, because he needs to forget that smile asap.

Zemo leans in, mischievous, as he says “Why, you’re Clark Kent, of course.”

Bucky snorts. “Right. Superman. May I remind you that my past isn’t as innocent as my face suggests?”

“As I said the first time we had this conversation, James: I merely want to see you wearing those tight, tight pants.”

Bucky laughs out loud at that.

It’s ridiculous.

He can’t hide his little squeak of excited surprise when the first bars of the Lord of the Rings soundtrack start to fill the living-room. He was in the kitchen, putting away the dishes in the dishwasher, when Zemo was rummaging through their admittedly impressive collection of online platforms to find the right film.

He almost runs to the couch in his impatience, even though he’s watched The Fellowship of the Ring at least two dozen times by then. He can’t actually imagine the number of times he’s seen it since he’s living here, though. It must have gone through the roof.

“Extended edition?” he asks automatically, and Zemo smirks at him before sitting down next to him.

“I know better than to try and show you the theatrical version, by now, James.”

Bucky’s satisfied, and sits back comfortably just as Galadriel’s voice starts its hypnotizing monologue. Without really meaning to, he starts whispering the words alongside her, making Zemo chuckle quietly. Bucky looks over at him, but he doesn’t interrupt the movie, perhaps knowing it’d be the wrong move.

They are halfway through Bilbo’s birthday party when he finally says something. “My favourites have always been Meriadoc and Peregrin.”

Bucky snorts, as Zemo’s favourites steal one of Gandalf’s fireworks. “Only you would be calling them by their full names instead of ‘Merry’ and ‘Pippin’.”

Zemo leans towards him. “I only do it to rile you up, James.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

He’s surprised when Zemo joins him to echo Bilbo’s speech perfectly, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. When the Hobbit disappears, they turn to one another and the Baron shrugs. “I’ve always found his speech rather eloquent.”

“Because you’re a drama queen.”

They laugh again.

“You’re Boromir,” Zemo pipes up as the Fellowship leaves Moria a while later, a wizard having been left behind.

Bucky turns to him again, meets his eyes, and frowns. Is he Boromir? He supposes there are similarities. Of all the members of the Fellowship, he’s the one with the darkest edge. A good man tempted by evil. It makes sense.

“I always feel bad for his brother when he dies.”

“Me too.”

They resume watching in silence.

When the Fellowship disbands and Enya’s song starts humming elvish words, Bucky turns away from the screen again, and almost starts.

Zemo has fallen asleep, though he can’t say when for sure, because he was entirely too engrossed in the movie to check on him after a while. Arms crossed over his chest, his head slipped to the side to the point where it’s hanging – painfully, no doubt – near Bucky’s shoulder, though not touching him at all.

He stares at the man, unsure of what to do.

They spent a very nice evening together, he thinks. Cooking together was fun; eating together was educational; and watching one of his favourite movies of all time was…very agreeable. Domestic, almost. He can picture them now, huddled together on the couch, shouting their favourite bits of dialogue in concert, laughing together.

He sighs wistfully. He’s starting to see how he could have fallen in love with Zemo once.

He just wishes he remembered.

After watching the man sleep a bit longer, he finally decides to bring him to bed. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have anywhere to sleep himself, since they were on the couch. Carefully, he places his hands under the Baron’s back and knees, and lifts him into his arms.

Unconsciously, as if this had happened countless times before, Zemo nuzzles closer to him, placing a hand at the back of his neck, the other on his chest, and his head on his shoulder. A small contented hum escapes his lips, and Bucky feels uneasy.

He climbs the stairs slowly as to not jostle the man in his arms, and removes the comforter and blanket from the top of the bed with his socked foot. When he leans down to place Zemo on the bed, though, he has to brace himself not to fall, because the Baron clings to him.

“James…” he slurs in his sleep, and Bucky sighs again as he gently unhooks Zemo’s arms from around him.

“Good night, Zemo,” he whispers at last, and watches a small but inherently cute smile form on his husband’s lips.

He turns away, his eyes falling onto the second frame on top of the dresser, the one that shows them kissing on their wedding day. He grits his teeth, looks back at Zemo who’s already tucked the covers over himself, holding onto them as if they were Bucky’s arms, and goes back downstairs.

He lightly slaps himself when he’s settled on the couch, and hisses “Just come back” to his stupid memories.

Then, he lets himself fall into sleep, and once again, there are no dreams to report…

Chapter Text

The following morning, Bucky has to accept that his memories just don’t want to come back right now. He wakes with a deep sigh, and also the foreign feeling of a good night’s sleep unhindered by nightmares.

He recalls the previous day, as he did before falling asleep last night.

It was strangely easy to spend time alone with Zemo in such a way. Unbothered by an impeding fight or a mission, they could just appreciate each other’s company, and it was nice. Bucky finds that he likes the man when he’s not taunting him with stories of his past or trying to lure his murderous alter-ego back to the surface.

Zemo was patient with him too. Bucky can’t quite imagine what it must be like to face the person that you are living with, who you are in love with; and seeing their eyes void of any recollection of their affection for you.

He certainly wouldn’t have been facing it with as much grace and patience as the other man, that’s for sure.

He lays on the couch for a while longer, unwilling to get up just yet but also unwilling to see the pain in Zemo’s eyes when he’ll see he hasn’t regained his memories yet. Even though he’s faced horrors far greater, Bucky realises that seeing the Sokovian in such pain hurts him too. Somehow.

His eyes fall on the cabinet just under the large flat tv screen. There is an old, Asian-looking tea set decorating the rich wood, something that he has no doubt comes from Zemo. It makes him think about Riga. About that time when he felt so uneasy in Zemo’s company, so angered by the way he was acting, without being able to really put words onto what and why. Now, he thinks he might have an idea.

Zemo hiding things from him makes him angry. Zemo putting himself in danger without cause makes him angry.

Perhaps he fooled himself all along. Perhaps he’s liked Zemo for far longer than he’d have thought possible.

Perhaps it is easy to imagine a world where he’d fall in love with the sarcastic, competent and handsome Baron.

Ayo was right all along.

There’s a knock on the door a certain amount of time later, though he doesn’t know how long. He grabs the t-shirt he wore yesterday and pads over to the front door, opening it to reveal Sam, a travel bag swung over his shoulders, sunshades in place and a wide smile on his lips.

“Hey Buck! Look who’s here!”

Bucky’s not the type to hug people, but right now, he’s so relieved to see his partner at his door that he can’t help himself: he grabs Sam by the shoulders and draws him into a tight embrace, making the man’s bag fall to the floor with a big clunk.

“Ooookay, I guess this means your memories haven’t come back since yesterday…” Sam chuckles and hugs him back, but doesn’t move away. Sam is a very tactile friend, Bucky knows. He’s not going to feel uncomfortable about this anytime soon…

It’s him who moves away, but he keeps a hand on Sam’s shoulder even as he does. “Thanks for coming, man. You can’t imagine how good it is to see you…”

“Well, I was gonna come this weekend anyway, so a few days earlier is nothing too bad…” Sam winks and picks up his bag from the ground before shutting the door behind himself, muffling the sleepy bleats of goats from their ears.

Bucky’s brow furrows. “This weekend? What’s this weekend?”

Sam takes his shades off, and he looks a bit sorry. “Oh right, you don’t remember… Well, it’s Zemo’s fiftieth on Saturday, so, I was gonna come, and Sarah and the boys are coming.”

Bucky’s gut twists. Despite all the changes in Zemo’s face – well, mostly hair – and the fact that he’d been expressively told that four years had passed since 2024, he hadn’t done the math. He had never been good at math, in fact.

He passes a hand through his hair and says “Zemo hasn’t said anyt-“

“Do I hear my favourite Captain in the house?” interrupts a cheeky accented voice, followed by a bathrobe-clad Baron descending the stairs. He’s smiling widely, and Bucky feels like his eyes are going to bulge out of his skull when he sees him and Sam embrace like old friends.

What’s this fuckery?

“Hello, Helmut,” Sam says, taking a visible pleasure in Zemo’s grimace when he mispronounces his given name.

“Hello, Samuel,” he counters. “Thank you for coming, I know that your presence is comforting James a lot.” Bucky looks at him, because he didn’t say it explicitly, and yet, the man guessed. Read him like a book. As usual.

“You’re welcome. I’d do anything for this grumpy old bat.” Sam bumps into Bucky’s shoulder before sighing ominously. “Right, is there any coffee in this house? I need like a bucket-load of the stuff!”

Zemo chuckles and makes to follow ‘their’ friend to the kitchen, but before he does, he stops next to Bucky, and places a careful hand on his arm. “We can talk about this weekend later, James. One step at a time.” He smiles, and Bucky nods with a tilt of his own lips.

Zemo ostensibly leaves the kitchen after offering Sam the prophetic coffee, and while he does need to get dressed – although the sight of him in a bathrobe is never one that Bucky is going to complain about – it’s easy to understand that he wants to leave the two friends alone.

Bucky’s grateful.

Sam moans when taking a sip of the rich brew, then he settles the cup back onto the kitchen counter and looks at his partner, lips now downturned. “How are you copin’, Buck?”

Bucky sighs, turns his eyes to the patio beyond the glass panels. “Better than yesterday. I suppose having Zemo around is helping understand the life I live here. But it’s still so fucking surreal.”

“I honestly can’t imagine what it’s like,” Sam says empathetically, as he always does. “Has Shuri found a reason for this sudden lapse in memory?”

Bucky shakes his head and crosses his arms to stop himself grinding his vibranium fingers against each other. “Nothing physical, or metabolic. We think it’s self-induced.”

“Huh,” Sam says, and Bucky looks at him, sees how he’s visibly thinking hard about this. “I should talk to Zemo. See if anything out of the ordinary has happened the night before…” Bucky’s surprised that, unlike others, Sam didn’t ask him if something had happened. Obviously he wouldn’t know, and Sam seems to be the only person to realise that.

The new Captain America – though Bucky supposes he has now been for almost five years at this point – is a great listener, and Bucky is happy to let him take the reins of his strange breakdown for now. He trusts no one better to find a solution to his problems; at least, no one better when Shuri can’t do anything about it.

“Right, well, I should go put my things down at the palace,” Sam says a moment later after emptying his coffee cup. “I’ll come back later today, if that’s okay with you, old man.”

Bucky snorts. “What are you here for, dumbass?”

Sam smiles and pats him on the shoulder as he stands and grabs his bag again. “Hey, any idea where Ayo might be?”

“Why?” Bucky asks suspiciously.

“No reason, just… Wanting to say ‘hi’, is all.”

Bucky doesn’t trust that answer at all, but shrugs non-committedly. “I suppose she’ll be training the Milaje.”

“Right, of course.” Sam’s eyes take on a bizarre far-off hue, then he leaves the room, and Bucky hears him shout “See you later, Helmut!” before he closes the front door behind him again.

Why is Sam so interested in Ayo all of a sudden?

Wasn’t she married – to another Dora, no less – last time he checked?

He sighs, and goes around the counter to wash Sam’s cup while waiting for Zemo to come back down. His life is too fucking strange for words…

When Zemo reappears, he’s clad in a light shirt and a pair of shorts that is covered in grass stains. It’s so unlike the man to be wearing anything dirty that Bucky can’t stop staring at his thighs until the man is standing right in front of him and chuckles.

“We have to take care of the goats, this morning, James. It generally ends with one or both of us on the ground.”

Bucky’s eyes meet Zemo’s, and he likes the adorable crinkles at the corner of his eyes when he smiles. “You take care of the goats with me? You?!”

Zemo chuckles again, and pats him on the shoulder as he turns to exit the house by the front door. “You forced me to help once. I found I liked the activity.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but follows him out.

Thankfully, he remembers what to do from the time he had to tend to goats before Thanos, the Snap and the Blip all fucked up his life again. It’s strange to be able to carry bundles of dried grass with both arms rather than just the one; but he feels at peace again. This is an occupation he loved before, and still loves now.

Zemo apparently has his own tasks to take care of, because he immediately grabbed two heavy buckets of water to fill the troughs before moving inside the goat house to clean up.

They work in silence, but share smiles when they cross paths. Bucky feels at ease, doing something so mundane with the Baron; just like he did when they cooked the previous day.

When he joins him to help clean up and lay fresh hay in the goat house, he decides to strike up a conversation. “So, what’s this about this weekend, then?”

Zemo chuckles as he shovels dirty hay into a wheelbarrow. “I’m sorry, James, but you are married to an old man. You’ll have to get used to it.”

Bucky laughs, because it’s a stupid thing to say, but it’s still quite funny. “I didn’t know your birth day.”

“Well, now you do,” Zemo says without mirth, a simple kind fact. “If you feel uncomfortable with the idea of celebrating at a time like this, though, we can reschedule.”

“Nah,” Bucky says as he tears the rope holding a bale of hay together with his bare hands. “We don’t have to. It’ll be fun. And maybe it’ll help.”

He feels like both of them are starting to think that his memories will take a long time to come back, but it’s not such a daunting thing, after all. He’s surrounded by people who love him, no one will take advantage of his amnesia, and it’s kind of nice to rediscover things like it was the first time…

“Sarah has promised to help with the decorations and meals,” Zemo continues with another small smile, wiping sweat off his brow. Bucky stares at him, dishevelled and all hot. In more ways than one, though he’s not quite sure how to take it yet. “Maybe Sam and you can take charge of the music?”

Bucky shrugs. “Do you trust my musical tastes?”

“More than Sam’s, that’s for sure,” Zemo snorts. “At least, one can dance on the music you like. Him, however…can it be called dancing?”

Bucky recalls the Baron’s moves in Madripoor, what now feels like a century prior. It had been electronic music, a beat and little else, and Zemo had been ridiculous.

He chuckles as he shakes his head, spreading the clean hay over the floor while Zemo wheels the dirty one outside to dump onto a pile of manure.

When he comes back out, Zemo is struggling to hold a small goat away from its mother and, supposedly, sibling. The little one is trying to suckle on its mother’s tit while the older kid is trying to headbutt its sibling.

“James, can you help me?” Zemo asks with a laugh. Bucky joins him, gently holding the exuberant goatling into his arms to calm it down.

“Hey, kid, let your brother or sister eat before you resume playing, alright?” The goat bleats, and Zemo laughs too as he wipes his hands on his shorts.

“You called this one ‘Steve’, when he was born. Said he’s a little punk.”

Bucky looks at the goat, and hums. “Yeah, I can see that. What’s the mother and sibling’s names?”

“Heidi – my choice, obviously – and Yomble.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “I named a goat after a Dora?!”

Zemo smirks. “No, I did.”

“To annoy her.”

“Indeed. And it worked a charm.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You’re impossible.”

“Thank you, darling.”

The affectionate term takes him by surprise, but doesn’t scare him. He’s unsure if he likes it yet, but it’s okay for now.

‘Steve’ then decides he’s had enough waiting for his sister to finish eating, and thrashes so hard in Bucky’s arms that the man struggles to hold him steady; to the point where, in his haste to catch the elusive kid, he stumbles and falls into the grass.

Zemo starts laughing, wheezing even. “What did I tell you?” he calls in-between bouts of laughter.

Bucky glares playfully at him, and when Zemo comes to offer a helping hand, he pulls him down too, and they end up lying on the grass next to each other, watching the bright blue skies, curious goats coming to sniff at them – perhaps wondering if they were food, who knows.

It’s peaceful, and Bucky doesn’t want to move for a long time.

Zemo doesn’t make any sort of move, just lays there, chuckles still shaking his chest as he tries and fails to fully calm down.

“It’s nice,” he finally says, turning his brown eyes to Bucky, who meets his gaze curiously. “It feels like we’re doing routine tasks for the first time again.”

It echoes Bucky’s previous musings, and he doesn’t answer. Because he agrees, but there is no need to ruin the moment. He turns back to the skies, and they lay there together for a while longer, until either ‘Steve’ or one of his mischievous cousins comes to munch on their shorts.

Sam comes back after lunch and after taking a long nap to help with jetlag. He spends about half an hour talking with Zemo on the patio while Bucky is doing the dishes – and then has to pretend he has something else to do – before he drags him out and towards town.

“Where are we going?” he asks his friend halfway across a field.

Sam smirks. “You need a present for your husband’s birthday.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “Maybe I’ve already got one!” Maybe he has, after all. Maybe he’s bought one ages ago and it’s hidden somewhere in the house, who knew?

Sam shakes his head and wraps an arm around his shoulders as if chastising a child. “You don’t. You always think about it last minute, freak out, and buy whatever.”

He has to admit that Sam isn’t wrong. He generally realises he has Christmas presents to buy around the 23^rd December. Back when he was young and innocent-ish, he remembers buying Steve a pair of socks with a reindeer on it. Steve had laughed, because Bucky had bought him the exact same ones the previous year.

“Right,” he concedes after a while. “But what do I buy him? I don’t remember his tastes!”

“I’m sure we’ll find something,” Sam reassures him. “Even now, you know enough.”

Bucky’s eyes fly to his friend’s, suddenly overcome by a genius idea. “I know! Tea!”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Buck, you got a cabinet-load of the stuff. Don’t buy him tea.”

Bucky feels defeated. By tea.

In the end though, Sam doesn’t need to help him that much. They head to the daily market in town – and they even see Oeznik from afar, even if Bucky doesn’t feel comfortable enough to go greet the man – and he immediately feels like jewellery is the way to go.

Zemo likes the fine things in life, he knows that for sure. Even here, in Wakanda, his clothes have a higher price tag than everything in Bucky’s side of the closet. Their plates were made in Delft in the Netherlands; their cutlery is silver; their beddings are satin and cashmere.

He also knows he is a man who likes symbolism. He has noticed the pendant he never takes off before – he was wearing it in Berlin all those years ago already – knows that it means something to him, grounds him into fond memories of his late wife and son – even though it also grounded him in revenge for a long time.

So he heads towards the jeweller, and eyes the colourful beads carved out of various stones. He knows the vendor, knows he’ll create a bracelet out of anything he chooses, and that it’ll be beautiful and lasting.

He chooses amethyst – which symbolises wit, something Zemo never lacks – garnet – because Zemo is royalty, after all – and topaz – for intelligence. He shies away from the stones that have too much of a romantic meaning, because he’s unsure if he’ll ever be able to give that side of him to Zemo again, at least not now. It’d send a contradictory message.

And nothing stops him from adding to the bracelet later on anyway, for anniversaries and the like.

Look at him. Thinking like a proper manwife.

Sam leaves them before dinner with an excuse Bucky doesn’t feel like he can trust. His friend is a soldier, going to bed early to avoid jetlag isn’t something he usually does. Well, not four years ago anyway.

Zemo smirks and tells him that he’s probably going to spend time with Ayo, and Bucky is puzzled again. Then again, he doesn’t ask. Perhaps he remembers that wrong too…

That evening, Zemo cooks for them both, and sends Bucky to take a long hot bath while he does. It feels like a date, especially with the candles on the table, but Bucky doesn’t mind that much. The food is good, the conversation is very good, and he feels at ease again.

When they plop down on the couch to watch The Two Towers – extended edition, of course – he hesitates for a moment before sitting closer to Zemo and placing an arm behind him on the back of the couch. The Baron looks at him quizzically, then inches closer until he’s basically cuddling Bucky.

He falls asleep in Bucky’s arms in the middle of the Battle of Helm’s Deep – inconceivable – but this time, the former Winter Soldier does not carry him to bed. Instead, he basks in the feeling of the other man nestled up against him. The moment makes him feel so safe, and loved, it’s almost intoxicating.

When the movie ends, he starts feeling like this life is something he should never have been able to achieve, not with his past, not with his past crimes. He should never have gained peace; have founded a home; have found love and peace and quiet.

He doesn’t deserve any of it. Not the beautiful house; not the boisterous goats; not the man asleep in his arms.

Any of it.

His heart beats faster as he opens his eyes and finds himself in a strange place.

Strapped onto what looks like an old hospital bed, amidst rotting walls and decaying furniture. The smells are awful, but worse even is the confusion, the haze, like he’s been drugged.

He tried to curse out loud, but his throat is hoarse, and instead, he falls back into darkness.

When he wakes, he’s back on the couch, Zemo’s head nuzzling into his neck as the TV screen fades to black.

A nightmare, no doubt…

Chapter Text

This time, it’s Zemo stirring in his arms that wakes Bucky. It’s not quite dawn yet, and he feels a nasty crick in his neck because of how he was leaning on the back of the couch, but he finds himself missing the warmth provided by another body as soon as Zemo sits straight and stretches.

“Apologies, James, but I’m too old to sleep in such a position anymore, even in your company.” He bends his legs one after the other, making the bones snap, and groans when he stands, his back visibly protesting a bit. “I’m going to relocate to the bedroom for the rest of the night. Will you stay here?”

Bucky stares at him. In the dark, Zemo looks almost exactly as he did when he met him twelve years ago. There’s nothing ‘old’ or ‘ancient’ about the man.

He wants to continue sleeping with the Baron in his arms, because it soothed the weird nightmare he had earlier, but doesn’t think he can handle joining him in the marital bed quite yet. Therefore, even though he doesn’t really want to, he nods. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Zemo smiles kindly. “Nothing to apologize for. Sleep well.” He punctuates his words with a gentle caress on Bucky’s shoulder before he pads away and out of the living-room. Bucky stares after him.

Wishing he’d just followed.

He doesn’t go back to sleep, not fully at least. Zoning in and out of consciousness, he ends up going outside to sit in a lounging chair to watch the sun rise over Wakanda.

It’s so beautiful and calming that he almost cries.

When Zemo joins him and hands him a cup of steaming coffee, they sit together in silence for a long while, enjoying the warm air and the quietness of it all before Bucky finally turns to his somehow-spouse and smiles a bit. “It’s beautiful here.”

Zemo smiles back over his teacup. “It is. I would never have imagined it before T’Challa released me from the Raft. Wakanda could easily give Sokovia a run for its money…” He talks about his lost country with fondness, which tells Bucky that he’s probably done his grieving. He’s glad.

“What time does Sarah arrive; do you think?”

The Baron’s smile turns even fonder. “Knowing her like we do, she’ll be here any minute, two sleepyheads in tow. And I don’t doubt she’ll have a schedule to follow as well.”

Bucky chuckles. “She’s a menace.”

“She’s a great menace,” Zemo concurs. He sighs, leans his head back and closes his eyes for a moment. “I suppose we’ll have to go get dressed, but I don’t want to.”

He looks absolutely delightful like this, with early morning light bathing his face, hair and beard in a golden glow. Bucky swallows past an unexpected swarm of butterflies; and moves to stand up from his chair. “Stay here. I’ll go take a shower and get dressed. If they arrive, I’ll take care of them. Take advantage of the sun for a bit longer.”

Zemo smiles but doesn’t open his eyes. “Moments like this, I’m truly glad I married you, James.”

Bucky freezes, but not because it’s a bad thing anymore. On the contrary. Now he’s starting to understand just why he married Zemo. And he’s starting to enjoy it too.

Zemo opens one eye and misinterprets his silence, for once. “I apologize. That was inconsiderate.”

“No,” Bucky says with a quiet laugh, and Zemo seems surprised. “I’m just not used to hearing you say it, that’s all. I’m going now. Enjoy.” And, to make sure the other man truly doesn’t think he’s disgusted by the idea of their marriage – anymore – he mirrors his earlier gesture and caresses Zemo’s shoulder when he passes next to him.

Sarah, A.J. and Cass arrive precisely five minutes after Bucky came back downstairs and let Zemo take his place in the bathroom. When he opens the door, he’s immediately assaulted by the two boys who jump on him and hang onto his arms, shoulders and legs like he’s a jungle gym.

Sarah – and Sam, because of course he accompanied his sister – roll their eyes at the display. Sam chastises his nephews and force them to back down – Bucky notices Cass has grown a lot since the last time he remembers seeing him – and Sarah comes to kiss him on the cheek, a mischievous smile on her lips.

“So, you thought you’d get out of preparations by losing your memories, uh?” she jokes, and while Sam seems about to tell her off, Bucky laughs as he hugs her back.

“I know; useless strategy.”

Sarah chuckles back before her dark eyes move around the living room. “Where’s the birthday lord?”

“Upstairs.”

“Ah,” she smirks, “making himself presentable.” She nods to herself, then turns to her boys. “Alright, guys, the plan is: help me, Uncles Sam, Bucky and Helmy prepare stuff for tomorrow, then you can go play in the garden. A.J.,” she adds, eyes narrowing, “if you want to go play with the goats, you ask Bucky first, alright?”

Her youngest nods sheepishly. “Yes Mom.”

Bucky smiles. Even if he lost four years of this, the Wilsons remain the exact same.

Sam comes to stand by him and leans into him as they watch Sarah place a heavy-looking bag onto the kitchen counter before she grabs a notepad. “Ready to receive your orders, Soldier?”

Bucky chuckles. “She terrifies me.”

“And she can hear you,” Sarah says, pursing her lips. Alright, here’s the plan…”

The plan involves decorating the entire living-room, moving furniture around – Bucky will have to sleep in the study tonight, not that he minds terribly – and piling up plates and cutlery in preparation. The party is two days later, but Sarah seems bent on doing as much as she can manage in one day.

Around 1pm, they finally stop for the day, and eat lunch altogether on the patio.

Zemo – or Helmy, as Sarah apparently calls him – sits besides his party-planner, and they exchange pleasantries for the whole meal, while Sam and Bucky just make faces at A.J. and Cass, who fidgets like a twelve-year-old ought to do when he’s torn between joining in on the fun and appear grown-up.

After lunch, Sarah and Sam leave the kids to Zemo and Bucky and go for a walk into town. Sarah apparently wants to scout the market to see what ingredients she can find for the party, because of course, she plans to cook for them all.

Bucky has just finished drying the last plate when he hears Zemo cry out, and he runs towards the patio to see what happened when he stops in his tracks, eyes widening.

Zemo is playing with A.J. He’s found nerf-guns somewhere – God knows where, actually, since Bucky’s sure he hasn’t seen these guns anywhere before – and has been struck on the cheek by the youngest Wilson.

Cass is standing idly by, his own nerf gun in hand and a grin on his lips as he watches his brother shoot at their honorary uncle again. Zemo takes a stance mirroring one he must have perfected in the army, and crouches behind any furniture he can find to protect himself; though Bucky definitely notices that he leaves himself open far too often in a bid to let A.J. hit him.

He watches them play, watches Cass join the fight, half-hidden behind the hammock as if it was a trench of some sort. Watches A.J. run out of ammo and run at Zemo instead to jump on him the same way he does Bucky. Watches the kid mimic shooting the Baron in the head with a nerf dart he doesn’t have, and watches his husband dramatically fall to the ground with ample gestures far too over the top.

“I’m hit! I’m hit! Help me! I’m dying!”

A.J. giggles as he watches Zemo thrash about like a child, and laughs even louder when the Sokovian grabs his legs and makes him fall onto the grass too, only to start tickling him.

When Cass starts laughing too from his hiding place, Zemo gets onto his knees, a terrifying smirk on his lips. “What could be so funny, Private Wilson?” Then, he leaps onto his feet to chase after the older kid, who laughs as he runs around to avoid getting caught.

Bucky is entranced, and completely enamoured with the scene. Watching Zemo interact with kids is something he finds extremely attractive. He had a brief inkling of this when they were in Riga and the Baron used sweets to bribe the local starving children; but now, here, it’s impossible to deny: Zemo must have been an amazing father.

And it seems he makes an amazing uncle too.

Amazing, and irresistible, when he stops to think about what his gut is trying to tell him.

Eventually, he joins in on the fun, and the nerf-gun war turns into a game of ‘who can catch Steve the goat the quickest’. After an hour of failed attempts and five dozen rolls onto the grass, Cass wins.

Sarah is unimpressed by the grass stains on her kids’ clothes.

Sam ducks out of the way when she turns her anger towards her sons’ ‘uncles’.

Zemo buys her forgiveness with dinner.

She relents.

The following day is spent cooking. Everyone is put to good use, even Shuri when she comes check on Bucky. Sarah snatches the princess’s arm when she tries to flee, and sits her down to help peel potatoes alongside Bucky. He finds it hilarious.

Sam, who’s the most familiar with his sister’s cooking antics, has been promoted ‘sous-chef’ and smirks at the poor souls who are getting bossed around while he simply checks on marinades, heats ovens and puts side-dishes in the fridge for the following day.

Cass and A.J. are on fruit duty, and while the eldest knows better than to cut the apples, pears, mangoes and peaches differently than what his mother asked, A.J. does what he wants. And, astonishingly enough, it earns him the right to leave the kitchen when Sarah waves him off with an exasperated sigh.

A.J. makes sure to smirk at his brother when he goes to the garden to play the day away.

Bucky leans towards Zemo, who’s massaging some herbs, oils and spices into a large piece of meat. “You’ve got a bad influence on these kids.”

The Baron’s smirk is far too delighted and proud of himself.

When Sarah slams a rolling pin in front of Bucky to bark “Don’t stall, Sergeant! There’s still a lot to do!”, he jumps in fear, and complies.

Sarah Wilson is terrifying. Even more than Thanos ever was…

When the fridge and freezer are filled to the brim with foods – little of which still need to be cooked – the Wilsons leave the house to enjoy a nice family dinner in town, leaving Bucky and Zemo alone for the evening.

Zemo who turns to Bucky once the door closed on their friends, and who bursts into laughter. One of those that are so contagious that Bucky himself starts chuckling.

“She is worse than my drill-sergeant!” Zemo wheezes.

Bucky nods. “Far worse. She’d scare Hydra members away with a glare!”

They laugh a while longer, then retreat to the kitchen.

Bucky sighs when he looks at the contents of the fridge. “We can’t eat any of this, she’s gonna kill us…”

Zemo chuckles again and moves to his side to grab a box of eggs. “Omelettes?” His gaze is so eager, so cute, as he asks the simple question, that Bucky feels himself melt. He nods silently, before grabbing a leftover tomato and some cheese.

They cook and eat to the sound of calming music that Mfo plays them. Bucky supposes it’s a good idea, because the next evening is going to be packed with people, noise, food, and emotions. He basks in the peace of it all for as long as he can.

They don’t watch the last of the Lord of the Rings movies, because they are far too tired to pay attention to it. Instead, they retreat to the lounging chairs in the garden, and watch the sky turn orange, pink, violet then ink blue as the sun sets behind them.

Bucky stares at Zemo for a long time, remembering the man who played with Sarah’s kids the previous day. It was just so beautiful that it awakens something in him that he thought lost.

“Zemo?” he asks, almost whispers, and the other man hums. “What do I call you?”

Zemo opens his eyes and sits straighter, his brow rising with curiosity, but a small smile appearing on his lips nonetheless. “Most of the time, you call me ‘doll’. When you are angry with me, ‘Baron’. And…some other times, ‘cukor’.” He doesn’t really have to elaborate, Bucky can imagine what those ‘other times’ imply. He doesn’t blush, but clings to the language.

“Did you teach me Sokovian?”

“I did. Do you remember it?” There’s hope in Zemo’s voice, and Bucky hates that he’s going to crush it again.

“Not really. I can recognize it, but not translate it. Yet,” he adds, because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t regain those fucking memories soon.

Zemo nods, looks again to hide his disappointment, and sighs. “’Cukor’ means ‘sugar.’”

“What about ‘Moja láska’?” Bucky asks, remembering Zemo’s greeting on that first doomed morning.

“It means ‘my love’,” the Baron whispers back.

His words are so tainted with pain that Bucky feels sick. He stares back at the man for a long while, then decides that he’s had enough. “Can you kiss me?” he asks, no, practically demands.

Zemo’s eyes widen. “You…want me to kiss you, James?”

“Yeah.” There’s no hesitation in his voice, and he stands, silently motioning his husband to do the same. “I want to remember. Please, kiss me, Zemo.” He was on the verge of calling him ‘doll’, but that would have been the wrong move, he knows it.

Zemo stands too, eyes searching, hands trembling when he reaches to take one of Bucky’s with one and to cradle his cheek with the other. “Are you certain?” There are tears in his eyes, now.

Bucky doesn’t answer, and leans down himself.

When their lips meet, it’s tentative, almost shy. Bucky doesn’t remember kissing anyone since the 40s, because whomever wanted a piece of him at Hydra didn’t want to stoop so low as to kiss him; but this is…this is…enlightening.

Zemo’s lips are soft, but the sound he makes when their lips collide is softer even. It prompts Bucky to press his more firmly to the man’s mouth, and to start exploring. They’re slow, agonizingly so, and they lose their breath at the same time as their ability to think, it seems.

When Bucky runs his tongue along the seam of Zemo’s lips, the Baron all but jumps on him, and Bucky quickly wraps his arms around him to hold him up, feet now no longer touching the ground, as he is welcomed inside Zemo’s warm mouth. He takes his time exploring that as well; basking in the fire that sizzles underneath his skin and runs over him to settle in his groin.

He’s getting hard kissing Helmut Zemo, and they’re not even getting passionate. Yet, he amends, because now that he’s tasted the Sokovian’s lips, he doesn’t think he can turn back from this.

When they have to part, if only to breathe, Zemo bumps their noses together. “How was our first kiss?”

Bucky keeps his eyes closed. “I don’t know, how was it?” He’s talking about Zemo’s first kiss with him, obviously, and the man catches up to his meaning, as usual.

“It was different. In many ways, this should have been our first kiss. Our ‘real’ first was…more hurried.”

Bucky chuckles and, impulsively, leans to peck him on the lips once more.

That’s it.

He’s addicted to Zemo’s kisses now.

He’s doomed.

“I think I want to sleep in our bed, tonight,” he whispers, because he does. He wants to sleep in Zemo’s arms again. “To sleep,” he emphasizes, though, because even if he’s turned on, he’s not ready for that yet.

Zemo hums, lets himself fall back onto the ground, and gently tugs on Bucky’s hand to bring him back inside. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Text

When the sun rises the following morning, Bucky feels more contented than ever before. He’s spooning Zemo in their bed, his vibranium arm cradled to the man’s chest where he’s drawing soothing circles on the metal.

Humming, Bucky leans in to bury his nose in Zemo’s hair. Despite the salt and pepper, he smells the same as he always has. Not that Bucky’s ever nuzzled in his hair before; only that his senses are so sharp he’s very familiar with his natural smell, even buried under pungent cologne.

“How did you sleep, James?” Zemo murmurs, almost hums.

“This was the best sleep I’ve ever gotten,” he answers truthfully, before remembering a crucial information.

Gently, he uses his left arm to turn Zemo over, until the Baron is on his back and Bucky pressed to his side. He puts his metal hand on top of Zemo’s on his chest, and carefully leans down to kiss him on the lips.

It’s as gentle as it was last night, and as lovely, if not more, because they are in their marital bed and it makes everything immediately ten times more romantic. “Happy birthday, Baron Zemo,” Bucky says when he moves back.

Zemo smiles tenderly at him, coaxing him to kiss him again. “I will never get used to this kind of wake-up call,” he chuckles before groaning. “I don’t want to move.”

Bucky chuckles as well. “What time do we have to get ready?”

“Sarah will be here any minute,” Zemo groans again.

Bucky stares at him, and suddenly refuses that his birthday be spent cooking and peeling vegetables. “Stay in bed. She can handle everything on her own. And if she tries to bother you, I’ll glare at her.”

Zemo chuckles, then wraps his arms around him to keep him firmly on the bed. “Nah, you stay here with me, Mr Barnes. It’s my birthday, and I get to decide everything on my birthday.”

Bucky laughs and lets himself fall back onto the bed.

Sleepy and cheeky Zemo is just too adorable to resist.

Sarah lets herself in, as expected, and barks at them from the bottom of the stairs, until Zemo lets Bucky leave the bed long enough to argue with her that the birthday man deserves to do what he wants on his day. She’s displeased, but agrees to let it slide before turning to her brother and announcing that he’ll have triple duties that day.

Sam glares at Bucky who smirks at his friend before going back to his cuddly husband.

At around noon, Zemo decides to go take a shower. He seems on the verge of inviting Bucky in with him, but doesn’t, and while the water runs, Bucky goes to their massive walk-in closet to plan his outfit for the night. He also checks that his birthday present is safely hidden away.

He feels like he’s going to add the rubies sooner than he’s expected.

Especially when Zemo comes back to the bedroom clad in one of those blasted bathrobes.

Smirking, too, as he no doubt knows the effect it has on his poor amnesic husband.

At around 2pm, they join Sarah and Sam and help them with the rest of the food, before Zemo announces loudly that he wants to take a walk in nature with his special someone.

Bucky is far too giddy to refuse and smirks at Sam again as he joins the man outside.

He hears his friend tell his sister ‘Twice now I’ve seen him fall in love with Zemo. It’s gross each time’ and doesn’t feel bad at all. In fact, he feels amazing.

Is he falling in love with Zemo?

He thinks he definitely is.

And he also thinks he loves it.

The party starts at 5:30pm sharp. After their walk, Zemo and Bucky went back to their room to change; and it turned into a fashion show for a while, because the Sokovian couldn’t stop to choose one outfit over the other.

In the end, he settled for his wedding trousers – burgundy red – and a white shirt with very stylish Italian leather shoes. It’s not over the top, yet it makes Bucky’s blood absolutely boil.

He’s a goner, now.

He himself is wearing simple black trousers with a dark blue shirt embroidered with baroque swirls in black thread. Zemo looks at him like he’s edible, and Bucky has to remind himself that they have guests coming and now is not the time to rediscover he has a libido after all.

They go downstairs hand in hand, and find the living-room decorated and filled with the food that they have all contributed to. Mfo is already playing some pop-music Bucky doesn’t recognize, and the Wilsons are there, Sarah adjusting the hem of A.J. pants, which are a tad too long.

Sam, always super elegant without truly trying, claps them on the shoulder and congratulates them for not scarring his nephews with sounds they shouldn’t hear, and Bucky sends him one of his famed glares.

Slowly, guests arrive. Oeznik is the first, and Bucky watches his and Zemo’s familial embrace with a fond smile; then come Okoye and Shuri; followed by T’Challa, Nakia and Queen Ramonda; and finally Ayo and her wife Lihle. Sam immediately runs to their side, and Bucky is stunned by the fact that he’s visibly flirting with both of them and they are both looking far too happy about it.

Zemo leans into him when he notices his staring. “Didn’t you know that Sam was in a polyamorous relationship with them?”

Bucky has never heard the word before. He feels old.

But it doesn’t take a PHD to understand what ‘polyamorous’ means. Now everything makes sense: Ayo’s strange behaviour when she mentioned Sam before; and Sam’s eagerness to see her all the time. “How long?”

“Not long. I’d say three days, at most.” Zemo is smirking, when Bucky turns to him.

Three days is when Sam arrived from Louisiana. Which means that he would have started this strange – but happy – relationship only then. How Zemo has guessed, he doesn’t know, and yet he does. Zemo is a genius. Far too observant for their sakes.

The party is in full swing: Sarah’s food is delicious – something she likes to pry out of guests’ mouths every two seconds – Zemo looks happy, they’re surrounded by friends… Everything is perfect.

Perhaps that’s why Bucky feels so bad.

Everything is too perfect. He feels amazing, warm all over, his heart swells with happiness at the thought of having the people he loves most around him – bar one who’s no longer there – and it feels so very wrong.

He’s not used to things being perfect where he’s concerned. There’s always something that turns to shit around him, no matter what he does; so the fact that his life here is so void of drama of any sort makes him too uneasy.

He watches Zemo unwrap gifts, a magnificent smile on his lips and a glint in his eyes whenever he sees the object hidden within; and he suddenly needs to get out of there.

It’s an imperious need he doesn’t understand, but what he does understand is that once he’s outside on the patio, he has to bend over a hedge to retch.

The evening air is cooler than the warmth inside the house, and he decides to stay there for a bit longer; not only because he needs something to be wrong at least once tonight.

Nothing is ever perfect in his life.

Nothing.

With a start, he finds himself back onto the dirty and old mattress he dreamt of once before.

He’s still bound to the frame, and visibly drugged, because he can’t feel the strength in his arms to wrench himself free.

He must be in an abandoned hospital, because there are other old bedframes around the place.

He feels like he’s going to be sick.

He forces himself to turn on his side, manages to tear one bar from the headframe of the bed, and falls to the dusty floor in a heap, feet and right arm still bound to the bed that falls on top of him.

Bucky groans and closes his eyes.

Where the fuck is he?

When he opens his eyes again, he’s in his Wakandan garden, lying on the grass, staring at the darkening sky.

He still feels like something is not right, and claws at his chest to get rid of it.

“James? Are you alright, love?”

Bucky’s eyes lift to see Zemo walking towards him, before sitting next to him on the grass. His hand goes to Bucky’s hair and the gentle caress there makes him feel safe.

Stupid heart.

“It was…too much,” he says truthfully.

Zemo nods, a small sad smile on his lips. “You always have trouble understanding that you can be happy too… But you can be… Just let yourself be…”

Bucky hears the pain in his voice, and he sits up, but Zemo doesn’t stop threading his fingers in his hair and he’s grateful for it. “It’s not you,” he blurts out, because he has a feeling the Baron thinks he fights being happy with him. “I just… I’m not sure I deserve all this.

“You do,” Zemo says firmly. “You do.”

Bucky can’t help but believe him for a split second.

He notices a chord around Zemo’s neck, then, and he gently reaches for it to free it from under his shirt. It a simple leather chord, and on the end of it is hung a claw. Around the top of it is woven reddish fur. “What’s this?”

Zemo smiles, doesn’t look away from his face. “Cass and A.J.’s gift. It’s a wolf claw – don’t ask me how they found one – and a bit of fox hair.”

Bucky knows the wolf claw is supposed to symbolise him. The fox must be Zemo’s spirit animal. And it makes sense: foxes are clever creatures, loyal, loving, cute as heck.

He stares at the necklace a bit longer before reaching inside his pocket for his own present.

Zemo’s eyes drop to his hand, then widen. “You bought me something?!”

“Of course…” Bucky says, incredulous. “Why wouldn’t I buy you something for your birthday?”

Zemo’s gaze is far too loving; but Bucky reminds himself that he deserves this.

Don’t fuck it up, his brain repeats on loop.

Zemo carefully unwraps the small wooden box, and when he opens it, he gasps.

He takes the bracelet and lays it on his palm to caress the stones set there. He whispers words that Bucky doesn’t understand but that could be the stones’ names in Sokovian. The vendor left a small piece of paper to explain their meaning at the bottom of the box, but apparently, Zemo doesn’t need it.

He looks back at him with tears in his eyes, and launches himself at Bucky to wrap his arms around his neck and bury his face there. Bucky feels the dampness of his tears, and hugs him back. He refuses to let himself be overcome by Zemo’s emotions, though. No Sir.

When Zemo moves back, he doesn’t move far, and bumps their noses together as he did the previous evening. “Can I kiss you?”

Bucky doesn’t answer, and offers him his lips.

It’s less tender than those they shared before. It’s lips and tongues and it’s wet and messy. Zemo feels like he’s ready to climb into Bucky’s lap to show him how grateful he is in another way; and Bucky himself feels like he won’t be able to stand in public for a long while with how hard he’s getting.

They kiss passionately for a while, before Zemo pulls back. He looks a mess; but a far too attractive mess. Bucky reaches up to wipe the saliva off the corner of the Baron’s lips, and Zemo catches his hand to kiss his palm.

Zemo seems about to say something, and Bucky is sure he knows which three words he wants to say; but he doesn’t, because this is probably too soon for that. Instead, he stands from the grass, fastens the bracelet around his slender wrist, and turns towards the house with a smirk.

“I’m going to sneak back in through the front door. You coming?”

Bucky knows he means that they both need a cold shower before they join their guests again; but following Zemo upstairs right now would beat the purpose, so instead he shakes his head. “I’m gonna use the stream.” Because there is a stream running not far from the edge of their garden.

Zemo thankfully understands that he’s not rejecting him, far from it, and smirks again before he runs back towards the house and sneaks around it like a thief in the night.

Bucky chuckles.

He loves this man.

The realisation doesn’t even hurt a bit.

Chapter Text

Bucky wakes up early the following morning. Well, early-ish, because by all standards, 9am isn’t strictly speaking early; but considering he only got four hours of sleep since the party ended, it’s quite early still.

He’s lying on his back, Zemo cuddled up to him, his head on Bucky’s chest and his arm and leg wrapped around him, emulating a koala. Bucky’s own arm is around his husband, hand buried in Zemo’s salt and pepper locks.

They’re also both hard.

Which isn’t a surprise in itself: they’re both men, morning wood is a normal occurrence of life. But today, being hard in a bed with Baron Helmut Zemo suddenly has a different flavour, because Bucky longs to just turn into the man’s arms, pin him to the bed and press their hips together.

Morning sex has always been famed to be amazing.

Not that he’d know, with his track record of leaving before dawn when he was younger…

The fact that he wants to experience every little thing that makes up life as a husband scares him to shit; but he tries to convince himself that he’s earned it. He’s earned quiet mornings in bed. He’s earned tender first kisses and cuddles in the grass. He’s earned someone who looks at him like he hung the stars.

Zemo surprisingly provides all of that, and would provide more, if Bucky only let himself get lost in the man’s affections. He would never have guessed it when this all started, that Baron Zemo, former enemy of the Avengers and him, criminal extraordinaire, would be such a perfect hubby.

It makes Bucky’s ‘nightmares’ even more horrible.

Because the feeling of wrong never left him, and even then, cradled in the embrace of a man who loves him, he doubts everything. He remembers the abandoned hospital, the dirty mattress, the rusting bed frame.

It felt real.

It felt so real that it makes him sick.

He gently entangles himself from Zemo’s arms, and misses it immediately after, but he has to hurry to the bathroom to retch over the toilet bowl, hating himself for not managing to simply be content with the life he leads here.

The house is looking pristine when he and Zemo finally go downstairs sometime after noon.

Zemo explains that he gave the house’s keys to Sarah, because she intended to clean up the mess she was responsible for, namely, the many plates, bowls and glasses that had been abandoned around the living-room and patio the previous night.

Apparently, Sam – or Oeznik, Zemo surmises – came with her to clean the whole house as well.

Nothing is out of place. Not even a single cushion.

On the dining-table, there’s a small parcel with Shuri’s writing on it. ‘As per tradition’, it says, and when he opens it, Zemo smiles widely before turning to Bucky to show him the princess’s latest present.

It’s a photo frame, not unlike the ones already adorning their dresser upstairs. This time, the photo hiding inside is of Zemo in the middle of an improvised circle, a glass of champagne in hand, the widest and happiest grin possible on his lips. Around him, slightly out of focus, are his guests.

And just to the right of him, Bucky can make up himself. He’s clapping, and the look on his face is unmistakeable as he watches Zemo.

It’s the same that he’s seen in other pictures around the house.

He’s well and truly fucked, now, it seems.

But it doesn’t stop him from embracing Zemo and smiling too. “It can join the others upstairs, if you want.”

Zemo’s smile is soft and loving, and he nods. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere,” he adds, half-playfully half-seriously.

It makes Bucky painfully aware that Zemo has always been able to read him like a book.

A few minutes later, they are sitting on the couch, two cups of tea waiting for them on the coffee table, a basket of untouched croissants next to the teapot.

Zemo is sitting sideways, so that he can face Bucky. “James, will you tell me what is wrong?”

Bucky looks at him, brow furrowing. “What do you mean ‘what is wrong’? I’ve lost my memories, isn’t what is wrong obvious?”

Zemo shakes his head, takes his hand. “No, there is something else. Don’t forget that you cannot hide anything from me, Moja láska…”

Now that he knows what it means, the term of endearment makes Bucky melt.

He sighs. “I don’t want to upset you.”

“What upsets me is seeing you upset,” Zemo counters. “Please, James, don’t keep me in the shadows.”

Bucky relents, but averts his eyes all the same. “I’ve been feeling weird for a few days. Like this isn’t right. Like this life is wrong, somehow. Too perfect, too…unproblematic.” He squeezes Zemo’s hand. “I’m happy here, happier than I’ve ever been; but it feels like it’s a dream, rather than reality. And…I’ve had…visions?”

Zemo’s thumb caresses his hand, coaxing him to continue. “Not nightmares?” he asks in a small voice.

“Not really. They happen during the day, as well, when I’m awake. I just...black out. I open my eyes and I’m in an abandoned hospital on an old bed, strapped in and drugged up my eyeballs… Then I come back here, and it’s like… It’s not exactly a memory, because I don’t remember anything like it ever happening…” He looks back at Zemo, eyes imploring, almost. “I think I’ve been kidnapped.”

Zemo’s eyes are pained, but he doesn’t dismiss him, which makes a surge of affection run through Bucky’s whole chest. “You think this life we are living is a hallucination. A dream. And that reality is you on that hospital bed.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. Before then, he didn’t really know what it was he exactly believed. But now, Zemo’s put it into words, and he has to face the truth. “Yeah.” He’s ashamed, oh how he’s ashamed; but he also feels better for talking to someone about it. And who better than the person who knows him best, no matter the world he lives in? “I know, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid at all, James,” Zemo says, and Bucky’s eyes find themselves lost in his again. “I know you’ve never fully accepted that your life has gotten better over the years. It’s who you are. But these…visions…intrigue me. If they feel real…” He pauses, his gaze clouding over as he thinks hard about the situation. “I wonder if this has to do with…”

“With what?” Bucky eagerly asks.

Zemo cradles his hand in both his. “Before you…lost your memories,” he says it as if it’s no longer the whole truth, “we discussed the possibility that Hydra wasn’t entirely gone after all.”

“You think my memory loss has something to do with Hydra?”

“It’s a possibility. And, perhaps, your visions are memories, after all; or it truly is your reality, and our life here is the memory…”

His voice breaks around the words, and Bucky draws him into his arms, realising that he too feels like crying right now.

It’s ridiculous.

He has everything he could have ever dreamt of; and he ruins it because of doubts and self-hatred…

Zemo doesn’t sob, but Bucky feels his tears through his t-shirt all the same.

“Zemo…” he whispers, and gently pushes the man away so that he can see his face again, his eyes that are red and his gaze that is purely heartbroken. “I do love you, you know…”

Zemo sobs at that, and embraces him again.

Ridiculous.

Bucky is ridiculous.

They go see T’Challa, Sam and Shuri a bit later. Okoye and Ayo join them as Bucky tells them what he told Zemo, holding onto the man’s hand like an anchor.

Shuri’s first instinct is to check his brain again. She finds nothing out of the ordinary.

The other four are quite adamant that he must be delusional, even if they use gentler words and ways to make him understand that.

They don’t believe him.

They all think that it’s the stress of losing his memories, that his mind is trying to find a reason for it and cooked up an impossible explanation while the truth is much simpler.

Bucky feels defeated when faces with his friend’s rebuke.

They don’t believe him.

He forgot how horrible it felt.

He feels like the Winter Soldier all over again, trying to separate truth from lies when his memories started coming back and Steve started making him doubt his purpose on this Earth.

He doubts himself, feels like shit, and the only thing grounding him is Zemo’s hand in his and Zemo’s words, because he trusts him; and he’s quite angry on his behalf when he tells their friends off like the Baron he never ceased to be.

They go back home, Bucky in a daze, and Zemo asks Mfo to divert any call they might receive. He also locks both their doors, probably expecting Sam or T’Challa to come to them and calm their anger and disappointment down, before leading Bucky upstairs to the study.

He sits Bucky down in an armchair, and kneels in front of him to force him to acknowledge him. “James,” he says, firm and almost severe, “we’ll find it. The proof. We’ll find it together.”

“They don’t believe me,” he simply says, feeling hollow.

Zemo places his hands on Bucky’s thighs, grounding him again. “I do.” He smirks a bit, his attempt to defuse the tension. “And I’m the most important person in your life, so that is the only thing that counts.”

Bucky chuckles darkly, but Zemo’s confidence in him is enough to make him shake the hollowness away and come back to the present moment. “How do you suppose we’ll find anything?”

Zemo smiles at him, happy to have coaxed him back, it seems, before turning to switch on their computer. “I’ve got every Hydra file possible on my hard-drive. We can start there, trying to find out if you’ve been submitted to this sort of thing before; or if they’ve used similar methods before. I can also try to locate that hospital you keep picturing, if you can describe it in details…”

Bucky feels like his heart was empty one second and full the next, because he immediately stands to embrace Zemo, and kisses him like there’s no tomorrow.

Just to show him how much his trust means to him…

They spend the next two days locked up in the house, digging through hundreds and hundreds of Hydra files, reading, printing and reading some more until their eyes are red and their brain do not compute anymore.

Then they crash into bed in a mess of tangled limbs, and Zemo clings to Bucky like he’s going to lose him any second now.

Bucky doesn’t tell him, but he feels the exact same way.

He ‘dreams’ of the hospital once more, and he’s still on the cold ground, the bed frame holding him down. This time, however, it lasts long enough for him to try and commit every single detail to memory.

Zemo puts those details to paper the following morning, and tries to locate said hospital. Perhaps that’s their lead.

On the third day, they relocate to the living-room. Sam and the others have stopped trying to talk to them, Mfo has diverted calls and informed whomever it may concern that they were busy; and they have spread dozens of printed pages around the living-room. Zemo is sitting on the floor, reading glasses on his nose – it’s just absolutely the cutest thing ever seen – and Bucky is lying on the couch, perusing through old files.

“I can’t find anything…” Zemo says, frustrated, after a few hours. “It’s just… Ugh!”

Bucky puts the paper he’d been reading down, and looks at his husband. “Hey, it’s alright, we’ll figure it out…”

Zemo looks up at him, and his soft gaze is enhanced by the glasses’ lenses. “I just wish I could help…”

Bucky feels that now familiar surge of affection again, and he reaches for Zemo with his right hand. Zemo takes it, and Bucky pulls him to his feet, then to the side of the couch. He looks up into those brown eyes he’s learned to love, and says “You can’t imagine how much it means to me to hear you say that…”

Zemo smiles, squeezes his hand, and leans down.

Their lips meet, tender, loving, until Bucky tugs on Zemo’s hand again and the man falls to the couch with a squeal. Bucky manoeuvres him so that Zemo straddles him, and he leans up to kiss him again.

It’s much more intense, this time. Bucky’s left hand moves down Zemo’s back, under his shirt, caressing the smooth skin of his back, in time with the caresses of his tongue inside the Sokovian’s mouth.

Zemo moans, clings to Bucky’s collar like he’s going to fall, and his hips grind against Bucky’s almost instinctively.

When he moves back, he pants “James, if you don’t stop this right now, I can’t promise I won’t get overwhelmed…”

Bucky presses their lips together again and whispers against Zemo’s lips. “Please do get overwhelmed…” Zemo moves back, stunned, and Bucky smirks before delivering the killing blow. “I want you, Helmut Zemo, so please, don’t stop.”

Zemo’s shirt is the first thing to go, almost immediately followed by Bucky’s. They pin their chests together as they kiss, the heat rising between them as Zemo presses his hips into Bucky’s again, and he feels himself buck up involuntarily. His hard length is painfully trying to get free of the confines of his jeans, and he groans into Zemo’s mouth before trying to tear the button open.

Zemo laughs and helps, prompting Bucky to playfully bite into his lip as retaliation. When Zemo runs his hand over his clothed groin, though, he feels like he’s the one being played here.

It’s even worse when the man leans down to lick his way up the seam of his vibranium arm, where the metal sinks into raised and scarred flesh. Pleasure the likes of which he’s never experienced before zings through him, and it takes a lot of effort not to come right this instant.

When he gains a bit of sanity back into his brain, he realises that Zemo has taken advantage of this lapse in control to take Bucky’s pants off, along with his underwear. And that the Sokovian is slowly taking his own boxer briefs off, a seductive smirk on his lips.

He’s gorgeous. Bucky wants him like he’s never wanted anyone before, and he leaks onto his own stomach at the realisation. He reaches for Zemo’s hard cock as soon as the Baron is within reach, and basks in the delighted moan that leaves the man’s lips before they close around his again.

They lazily lick into each other’s mouths for a while, hands exploring, caressing, kneading and sliding up and down hardened flesh. Hips move slowly to bring them some friction, some relief, but they are unhurried.

This is not fucking.

They are making love.

And Bucky’s heart is unsure it can take it.

“Zemo…” he whispers as said man runs his fingers up and down his cock. The name turns into a prayer, then a scream as the Sokovian kisses down his chest and runs his tongue along the same path his fingers took a second earlier. He licks up and down Bucky’s member once or twice, and then takes him fully into his mouth.

Bucky comes.

He couldn’t have stopped himself even with the greatest restraint possible.

He comes hard, rope after rope of white cum painting Zemo’s mouth, and yet the man’s brown eyes are nothing but eager when he stares at Bucky, whose hips apparently have a will of their own as he thrusts gently past his lips.

“Zemo…” he says again, this time like he’s about to chastise him, and his husband – and now lover – chuckles as he kisses back up his body before kissing him. The salt of his come is not unwelcome when he can kiss this man to his heart’s content.

Zemo kisses his cheek, his jaw, the side of his neck; does the same on the other side of his face, and all the while, his hips continue rotating on top of Bucky’s, seeking friction. The super-soldier hardens again, unsatiated.

Bucky feels loved, desired, happy. He pushes other unwanted feelings to the side and just enjoys the moment. He kisses a bruise onto Zemo’s neck, enjoys the moans that elicits; then he gently reaches for Zemo’s cock and his own. The metal of his hand is cool, but not uncomfortably so, and he slides it over their lengths slowly at first, then with more and more vigour.

Zemo’s moans turn into yelps of pleasure, mingled with Sokovian words and Bucky’s given name. Their breaths shorten, Bucky’s rhythm falters until Zemo joins his hand to the task, and they come together, staring into each other’s eyes and whispers of devotion on each other’s lips.

Bucky doesn’t care if this isn’t real; or if he’s losing his mind.

He’s feeling fan-fucking-tastic and can’t wait for round two.

Zemo looks like he agrees.

Chapter Text

They spend the next two days searching through endless files, veering away from Hydra to look for anything that could explain Bucky’s lapse in memories and/or his strange visions.

He sleeps in the marital bed each night, now. He doesn’t move away from Zemo in the morning, anymore, and just accepts that he loves him. That he doesn’t need to be ashamed of it, just as nobody around him hates him for it.

They don’t make love again after that first time, but it’s not important. They are constantly touching: Zemo likes to sit between Bucky’s legs in front of the couch when he reads through papers – his cute glasses on his nose – and Bucky loves to run his fingers through Zemo’s hair.

One morning, as he awakes before his husband, he even tries to count the strands of silver in Zemo’s hair. He’s beginning to love these strands of silver. He almost wishes he had some to match, but his own dark hair refuses to give in.

They kiss a lot too. Whenever one passes next to each other, a peck is dropped either on shoulders, hands, cheeks or lips. It’s soft, most of the times, heated at others.

When they watch The Return of the King, they spend the majority of the four hours run of the movie making out like teenagers.

Bucky’s life still feels too perfect, but he’s starting to just want to let it go.

Especially because he does not want to lose this.

Ever.

Sam, Sarah and the kids come say goodbye on the third day. The doors have been unlocked, and it’s a communal decision not to mention Bucky’s amnesia and what he thinks is the explanation for it.

They have lunch together, and then the Wilsons leave with tight hugs, promises of future visits and sloppy kisses on cheeks.

Sam pats Bucky on the shoulder, silently telling him that he’ll call, and Bucky is grateful, even if his friend still doesn’t believe him, and it still stings.

Shuri comes to check on him, and he leads her out with a gentle demand that she doesn’t do check-ups anymore.

When he closes the door behind her, he finds Zemo hovering behind him.

“James?” he asks, tentative. “Why don’t you want Shuri to check on your stats anymore?”

Bucky faces him and frames his face with a tender smile – if he could see himself in a mirror, he’d probably want to punch himself in the teeth. “I’m starting to think my memories might never come back. But I’m okay with it.”

“You are?” Zemo’s voice croaks as he grabs Bucky’s hands, trapping them against his cheeks.

“I’m not glad I’ve lost so many beautiful moments,” Bucky explains. “Our chess matches; our first kiss; our first time; whoever proposed first; our wedding…” He chuckles. “But I’ve made some new memories here, and they’re quite amazing too…”

Zemo has tears in his eyes, but he laughs too. “I proposed. You had bought the ring months before but never worked up the nerve to ask.”

Bucky laughs with him. “Sounds legit.” Then he pecks him on the lips. “Will you be upset if they are gone forever?”

“I’ll be more upset if your suspicions are found correct and I lose you forever,” the Baron corrects, and his grip on Bucky becomes almost desperate. “If everything here is a lie…”

“It’s not a lie,” Bucky says, but he’s not certain of that anymore. Not 100%. That damned hospital, the smells of rot and dirt are too real when he ‘dreams’ of them…

Zemo hums, but it’s quite clear that he doesn’t believe him. He tugs on Bucky’s hand and leads him to the patio instead of the living-room. “Let’s not go back to it right now… Please.”

Bucky nods, sits next to his husband on a lounging chair, and doesn’t let go of his hand.

In moments of silence like these, Bucky feels more and more miserable as time goes by.

He’s got Zemo’s hand in his; knows that the heart beating in the Sokovian’s chest beats for him; he’s got a wonderful house, friends living nearby or a plane ride away; he’s got goats. He’s at peace…

He’s got everything he should have ever wished for, and yet… It’s like he wants an out. Like this perfect life is just so intrinsically wrong for him that he has to destroy it from the inside. Like he did his friendship with Steve, in a way. Like he did his family, when he pulled the trigger upon Hydra’s orders.

He’s just so perfectly happy, that it makes him unhappy.

And that makes him even more unhappy. Because holding his hand is a man who wants to offer him the world, and who he is pushing away by the simple act of trying to find out if this life is real or not.

He’s breaking Zemo’s heart, and in a mirror effect, his own.

“It’s alright, Moja láska,” Zemo says through his painful introspection.

Bucky looks over at him, at the flecks of gold mingling with the silver in his hair and tinting his beard almost red. “No, it’s not.”

Brown eyes burn into his blue gaze when Zemo answers. “It is. We’ll find out what is happening to you. Together.”

“Zemo…” Bucky says, then sighs. “Doll,” he corrects, because he’s wanted to use that pet name for ages, now, “if I’m right, then it means-”

“That you will leave me, yes,” Zemo continues. “But if it means that you are where you belong, safe and sound, then it’ll be worth it.”

“But…” Bucky’s floored by Zemo’s self-sacrificing words; but remembers Ayo’s earlier words: he tends to do that where Bucky’s concerned. “What about you?” he says then, turning into the chair to face his husband, without letting go of his hand.

“James…” Zemo shakes his head softly. “I’m a selfish man. I’ll make do with what time I’ve been allowed at your side, that’s all.”

Bucky snorts as he stares at him. “You are the least selfish man I’ve ever met, Helmut Zemo.” Then, he pulls him to his feet, and back into the house; past piles of unread papers, up a flight of stairs, and into their bedroom.

Bucky needs to show Zemo how much he means to him, right there and then. He can’t in all honesty wait a single minute more.

He draws the man into a tender kiss, hands framing his face again, and Zemo melts into his embrace with a little surprised huff.

Bucky gently opens the buttons of Zemo’s shirt, and pushes it off his shoulders and onto the floor, before reaching for the zipper of his shorts. It’s all like a slow dance: he pushes, and Zemo pulls, they circle each other in a centuries-old routine that Bucky had almost forgotten.

His hands run free over the Sokovian’s freckled chest, taking his time to admire it in the sunlight. Zemo’s chest hair is peppered with silver, but it’s a delicious sight, just like the rest of him is once he is fully naked.

When he’s done worshipping Zemo’s lips and neck – leaving marks for all to see, just in case – the Baron’s brown eyes, lust-blown, open and cling to him like he’s the only light in the ocean. “James,” he says, like a prayer, “if this is all fake, please, please find me.”

Bucky’s heart break at those words, and he grabs Zemo’s right hand to stroke his wedding band before placing it above his own heart. “It’s real. Even if this world isn’t, this, right now, is real.”

It’s the most romantic shit he’s ever said to anyone, but he doesn’t care.

When they are both naked, Bucky walks Zemo to the bed and lays him there like a goddamn offering. Whereas his Sokovian husband took care of him the first time around, he desperately wants to do the honours this time.

He kisses every freckle on Zemo’s chest, arms, legs, neck. Ventures to his shoulders, his fingers. Tastes skin like the man in his arms is a three-course meal to savour. He wants to commit all of this to memory, and never lose it, this time.

Zemo’s hair, mussed by delicate hands. Zemo’s eyes, dark with desire. Zemo’s neck, pulsing with a quickened heartbeat. Zemo’s chest, heaving with love. Zemo’s cock, hardened by lust.

Slowly, to make it last, Bucky coaxes Zemo open as he tastes his skin. Sokovian praise echoes around the bedroom, mixing with the sound of ‘James’ over and over again. When he takes his length in his mouth, Bucky almost expects him to taste sweet, because that’s how he feels right now.

He understands the use of ‘cukor’, now.

When Zemo iswrithing under him, demanding to be released of his slow torture, Bucky laughs and kisses him deeply while aligning their bodies and making them one. Inch by glorious inch, he claims this man he once  loathed but who has given him his heart back.

No, more than his heart: himself.

Once he's in to the hilt, Bucky pauses, relishing in the shortened breaths of his lover, and in the torturous squeeze of his body around him. It's just exquisite.

“James…” Zemo pants, repeats like a mantra.

Bucky interrupts him. “I love you, Moja láska. Truly.”

Time freezes. Like a picture.

And Zemo smiles. “I love you too, my precious James.”

Then, Bucky starts to move, and praise becomes moans, moans become screams, screams become gasps.

It's so intense that it takes Bucky far longer than usual to come down from his orgasm; and longer still for him to even wish to retreat from his lover’s body.

Zemo is laughing, and crying at the same time.

When Bucky enquires, he simply says “It felt like a goodbye…”

Bucky kisses him, and counters with a “Then let me show you what a ‘hello’ feels like…”

They fall asleep in each other’s arms after hours of lovemaking. Bucky’s exhausted, but knows that he’ll never get enough of Zemo’s love.

The man has always been addicting in one way or other…

Bleeps interrupt his peaceful sleep.

Bleeps that sound far too familiar, and far too unwelcome.

Bucky groans, and someone gasps nearby. His head is throbbing like the worst hangover possible – not that he truly remembers what a hangover feels like – and when he tries to open his eyes, he screws them back closed immediately.

“Buck? You awake, bud?”

Sam.

Sam? But…

Bucky groans again. “Aren’t you supposed to be back in Louisiana by now?”

Sam chuckles, and it sounds like he’s closer, now. “Nice to see you too. How are you feeling?”

“Like a truck has rolled over me. What the heck happened? Where’s Zemo?”

Sam doesn’t answer. For so long, in fact, that Bucky opens his eyes again and fights against the light to see his friend’s face. He looks perplexed. “Why d’you wanna know that?”

Bucky frowns too.

Something’s wrong.

In a different way than what he’s become accustomed to.

“What happened to me, Sam?” he repeats, harsh, now.

Sam purses his lips. “Long story short: you were in a coma.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. His heart starts beating quicker, and several monitors bleep quicker too, to echo the panic rising in him.

Was he right?

Oh, he hoped he wasn’t right…

“How long?” his voice breaks. Instinctively, the fingers of his left hand search for a wedding ring. They find none.

His heart breaks even before Sam says it “Two weeks, man. It’s the 9^th September 2024.”

Chapter Text

When Sam starts explaining the whole truth the first time, Bucky is too out of it to truly listen.

He’s just lost two weeks of his life, a house, his peace…a husband.

The void on his finger is the hardest thing to face, at this precise moment. It’s like the ring was Zemo himself, and losing it meant losing him.

He’s still in Wakanda, that, he understands quite quickly, if only because there is a Dora at the door and a circle of tech on his hand instead of an I.V.

But the rest…he’s lost.

Sam notices his lack of attention after a couple sentences, and he sighs, moving to the door to call for something – or someone – before he sits on the bed next to Bucky’s legs.

“Hey man, will you be okay?”

Bucky meets his eyes, notices the wrinkles that had appeared there in whatever world he constructed in his mind have disappeared… How could he possibly have imagined all of that?

He isn't that good of a dreamer, isn't that creative…

It makes no sense.

When T’Challa and Shuri enter the room, he has to face the truth: it is 2024, and the reality in which he lived for a few days was but a smoke-screen. Shuri’s youthful features are living proof of that.

“White Wolf, James,” T’Challa greets worriedly. He pulls up a chair next to the bed and sits down. “You gave us quite a fright.”

“Where- What happened?” Bucky asks again, this time, fully attentive.

Sam sighs, shares a glance with the King, and turns back to him. “You were kidnapped. We didn’t really notice it, at first, because the dude who did it…kind of took your place.”

“What?” Bucky frowns. What does this have to do with his perfect life, with Zemo?

“Yeah, they’re…enhanced, I guess.” Sam scratches his head, and T’Challa takes the lead.

“This person took your appearance, your voice, your strength… It appears that they need a psychic link of some kind to maintain the illusion, hence your coma. They needed you unconscious.”

“And that’s what saved you,” Shuri continues as she prods at Bucky with the same instruments he dreamed about. “They glitched.”

“Glitched? Like…a videogame?” Bucky’s heard the word in Cass’s mouth often enough to know what it means.

“Yes,” T’Challa continues. “For reasons unknown, this individual reverted back to their initial appearance a few times. This is what alerted Sam.”

Said Captain America nods thoughtfully. “I thought you were acting kinda weird. More talkative than usual. You were asking weird questions about portals and Pym Tech and stuff… Then, for a second, it’s like you…faded. And came back. Like image on a phone.”

Bucky finds it even more puzzling. “I…woke up. A few times. In that hospital bed. Then I’d go back to…”

“Where, Bucky?” Shuri asks, the usual glint of scientific curiosity shining in her dark eyes. “Where were you?”

“Here,” he breathes. “In 2028. I was…living here. Retired,” he adds, and his heart breaks further. “I suppose it was a dream.”

“I don’t think it was,” the Princess says, checking on stats. “Your brain scans don’t look like someone who’s been dreaming. I took these,” she clicks some blurry images on her tablet, “when you were still sleeping. Your brain was acting like you were fully awake. And, by the looks of it, quite happy…”

“I was happy…” Bucky is whispering, now.

Sam frowns. “Buck… Why did you ask after Zemo when you woke up?”

He hesitates. Doesn’t know if he should tell them. He doesn’t know how they’d take it, especially since it was all a sham.

It hits him like a ton of bricks.

His and Zemo’s love was a total sham.

He dreamt this version of Zemo. A Zemo who loved him just as he was, without judgement. He dreamt him. He never existed.

Never would.

“Bucky?”

Shuri’s voice fades in the background as tears rise to Bucky’s eyes. He stares, unblinking, at his empty finger, and considers just ramming his fist into his head until there’s no more thought, no more heartbreak.

None of it was real.

None of it.

The ghost of Zemo’s kiss on his lips is fake.

The fading feeling of safety in his chest is fake.

The heart that beats for a Sokovian Baron is mistaken.

He’s never anticipated how much it’d hurt.

“Shuri,” someone says, and he no longer recognizes the voices, “put him under, he’s having an episode.”

When the world fades, Bucky’s almost grateful.

Almost, because unfortunately, he knows he’ll have to wake up again in a world where Zemo doesn’t love him after all…

When he comes to the second time, Shuri lets him leave the bed, because there’s nothing wrong with him physically – he’s heard that before…in a dream – and leads him to a small garden before handing him a sandwich.

As he eats in silence, she says “Sam and T’Challa have a lead on your kidnapper. They’ve gone after them. When they catch them, we’ll know more about what they did to you.”

Bucky doesn’t answer.

Shuri sighs. “Bucky, I won’t judge you, but please, tell me the truth… In that…dream… Were you with Zemo?”

His head snaps her way hard enough to give him whiplash, had he not been a super-soldier. “Why are you asking me this?”

The Princess makes a face. “You called for him. When you woke up the first time, but also when you were sleeping…” She looks at him carefully. “Did you dream of him?”

He nods slowly. “Don’t tell Sam.”

“I won’t. But I’ve seen your scans. You were filled with endorphins. Serotonin, oxytocin…all the good stuff. You were happy, weren’t you?”

His eyes fill with tears. “Happier than I’ve ever been.” He looks at her again, and she seems surprised to see his tears. “We were married, in that life. I didn’t remember it, at first. But we were. We had a house, and…” he chuckles wetly, “goats.”

Shuri embraces him, cradles his head to her shoulder, as if she wasn’t a kid and he a relic. “Oh, Bucky, I’m so sorry…”

He lets himself weep, because he needs to grieve this life he’s lived, this truth he knew for a while… Needs to grieve a love that never existed…

When he calms down, he realises her earlier words.

Sam and T’Challa want to catch his kidnapper.

Maybe his dream meant something.

He’s not creative enough to make up a world where he’d be happy like that. If he had to dream anything, it’d be chaos, memories of blood and gore and violence.

He needs to talk to this person.

He needs to understand.

To understand why Zemo.

Sam and T’Challa do catch his kidnapper. They also bring her back to Wakanda.

She says her name is Dreamer. She’s a mutant, and she wanted access to Pym’s time machine to go to another universe.

Bucky doesn’t care about her motivations.

When Shuri tells him about her, he demands to see her.

T’Challa agrees, but wants to be in the room. Sam remains outside, watching through the one-way glass. Bucky is still clad in a long tunic usually reserved to the sick, but he doesn’t care.

When he meets Dreamer’s clouded eyes, he seeks answers.

Needs them.

She smirks at him. “Hello, Soldier.”

He fights the urge to hurt her. “Why me?” he hisses instead, when all he wants is to hiss ‘why Zemo?’ instead. He has to be patient; to build up to it.

“You are the forgotten Avenger,” she explains easily. “People overlook you. You’re silent, nobody cares about you. Journalists don’t ask you questions, governments don’t share classified information to you… You were the easiest to impersonate. I didn’t need to know much to take your place.”

He grits his teeth, hating how truth all of that rings.

He is overlooked; people do fear him and ignore him.

“How did you create that world inside my head?” He feels T’Challa’s gaze on him, and knows he wonders what he means, because he hasn’t said much about it. He knows his friends – except for Shuri – think that he merely dreamt, but he knows better.

Dreamer tilts her head to the side, pensive-looking. “When I…become someone, they usually dream of paradise. Whatever their version might entail. Their vision of perfect life. Of perfect love. What was yours, Soldier? Was it Steve Rogers?”

He balls his first and drive it through the metal table. T’Challa moves to restrain him, but he doesn’t do more than that. “Why did you choose that life for me? Why them? Why him?”

Dreamer’s eyes glaze over further, even if they already appear blind to the outside world. “Oh, it wasn’t Steve Rogers, then…” She smiles. “You are wondering if any of that was real, aren’t you?”

Bucky slumps to his knees, and it’s pathetic, but by God he needs answers. “Why was it Zemo?”

He ignores the sharp intake of breath behind him, and stares intently at the mutant in front of him. She leans in a bit. “I pray on emotions that are already there. Whoever you pictured in your perfect little universe is who you love most. Here and now. I don’t construct feelings. I use them.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, and he blinks back tears.

Real?

Were his feelings for Zemo real after all?

His heart constricts in his chest.

He stands up, and Dreamer seems satisfied. “I hope you had fun, for a while, Soldier. Of all the people I prayed upon, you were the one most deserving of happiness.”

It almost breaks him, and he runs from the room.

Sam doesn’t find him until much later, and then again, he merely sits beside him on a field of grass that reminds Bucky of the garden he once owned in a dream.

Dreamer prayed on existing feelings.

He dreamt of Sam, Sarah and the boys because they’re already the closest thing he has to family. He dreamt of Ayo, T’Challa and Shuri because they’re his friends.

He realises that he never once heard Oeznik, Okoye or Ramonda talk in his ‘dream’. Perhaps because he doesn’t know them well, but they needed to be there nonetheless.

But he knows Zemo.

He knows Zemo and, apparently, deep down, he already loved him before all this happened.

No matter, though. Because even if his feelings are real, Baron Helmut Zemo surely doesn’t love him back. Not here, not now…

When he sobs, Sam embraces him, but doesn’t say anything…

Chapter Text

Several months pass, and Bucky doesn’t leave Wakanda.

Winter gives way to spring in the Southern Hemisphere, but one can barely feel the difference in Wakanda’s eternal warmth. He goes to sit in the grass every day, and sits there until the sun goes down and he has to go back.

Sam returns to the U.S., Dreamer in tow.

When he tells Bucky she’s been sent to the Raft, he doesn’t even tick.

He’s hollow, now.

Shuri and T’Challa offer him therapy, but any professional he finds himself facing receives only silence and heartbreak. So, instead, they try to provide him with the peace that eludes him.

Sarah and the boys videocall him once a week. He plasters a smile on his face each time, but each time it’s like a dagger to the gut because he remembers Zemo playing with them in a reality he somehow constructed himself; and he also remembers this as the moment he knew he was falling in love with the Baron.

Everything in Wakanda reminds him of Zemo, now.

Whenever he sees a goatling, he thinks of ‘Steve’ and his sibling Yomble. Whenever he goes to the market and sees the jeweller, he remembers Zemo’s bracelet. Whenever he sees something purple, he pictures it in their house.

One day, he calls Sam and tells him he wants to retire. He’s too tired to go back to the life of a vigilante. He wants peace. Sam doesn’t sound happy about it, but he does what needs to be done, and Bucky receives his release papers a week and a half later.

The following day, he tells Shuri he wants to build a house.

He purposefully avoids designing anything that resembles the home he once dreamed of.

He’s lonely, he’s silent, he’s heartbroken.

He knows it won’t change.

He’s been ‘back’ for ten weeks, two days and four hours, he supposes, when T’Challa comes to find him. He’s cutting planks that he intends to use in his future house, and threads his fingers into his hair, because it’s getting longer and into his eyes.

“James,” his friend greets with a sigh, “this cannot continue, my friend.”

“What?” he asks, weary, soul exhausted.

“This path you are on. At least, when you were in our care the first time, you had hope, still…”

Bucky doesn’t deny that he feels hollow. T’Challa knows him too well.

“I have a confession to make,” the King says at long last. “After what happened, Sam and I concluded that what you needed was closure, in any form provided.” Bucky’s eyes stare hard into the Black Panther’s, but he doesn’t waiver. “I’ve asked Sam to bring Zemo to Wakanda. He’s our responsibility, after all.”

The sound of Zemo’s name is like a punch to the chest, and Bucky’s heart misses a couple of beats.

They’ve brought Zemo here? Here, to Wakanda? But-

“What do you think it’ll achieve?” he sighs, dropping the wood back onto the ground. “I lived in a fantasy world with a fantasy version of him. It won’t do shit to bring him here…”

“Sam told him,” T’Challa reveals, and Bucky’s heart definitely misses a few beats at that.

He doesn’t find the strength to ask him to repeat his words, because he’s too stunned.

Sam told Zemo.

But he didn’t tell him everything did he? Because nobody knew everything. Apart from…Bucky himself.

His fingers search for a missing ring again, and he can’t deny the frantic hope that grips his soul.

Even if Zemo doesn’t love him the way Bucky once knew in a dream, he’s here…and he knows Bucky the best.

“Where is he?”

T’Challa smiles in relief, and leads him away.

When they reach the cells, Bucky has to fight a powerful gut feeling that almost tastes like déjà-vu.

Zemo’s cell possesses a high and large window that gives onto the grassy fields and lush forests of Wakanda. There is a small cot, a hidden bathroom area and a small table with a chair. Bucky remembers Zemo’s words in his dream-world.

They met again like this.

They fell in love like this. In a time he doesn’t know and never did.

“James…” the Baron breathes, and there’s a shuffle of fabric when he stands from the cot to face the glass separating them.

Bucky turns to T’Challa. “Can I go in? Alone?”

The King should have refused him, by all means, but he doesn’t. He pats him on the shoulder and nods. “You’ll be alone for two hours. Then I’ll be back.”

Bucky slides inside the cell as soon as the door hisses free from its hinges, and Zemo looks surprised by his eagerness, though he too appears eager to see him in the flesh.

Bucky looks at him, takes him in, drinks him in, almost. Zemo is clean shaven – apparently, his perfect version of the man is bearded, but he’s as handsome as he is now still – and he lacks silvery strands in his brown hair; but his honey-coloured eyes are as intense as ever as he studies Bucky’s appearance.

“James, are you alright?” the Baron asks, tentative.

Bucky sits at the table, and Zemo moves to sit back on his cot. “What did they tell you?” he demands.

Zemo stares at him still. “Samuel told me you were put under some sort of coma. That you dreamt of a perfect life. That you called for me while you were sleeping.” They both know what that implies, but neither voices it. “The return to normal life must have been such a shock, I’m so sorry, James.”

Bucky nods, but he finds that he cannot stop looking at the Baron as if he’s going to disappear any moment now.

Zemo’s smirk, when it appears on his lips, is the most beautiful thing in Bucky’s world. “Why exactly were you calling for me in your sleep, then, I wonder?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You don’t wanna know.”

“I do. Does your own little paradise include hunting me, or killing me, perhaps?”

Sam didn’t tell him, then.

Bucky’s not sure he’s glad to be the one to break the news to the Baron.

“No. It includes us being married.”

Zemo’s eyes widen, and his lips open in a gasp, the same kind of surprised little sound that he made in Bucky’s dream whenever he’d… Well, no, he’d rather not think about that now.

“We were married to each other?” Zemo seems incredulous. “But…you hate me!”

“I don’t,” Bucky says immediately, because these words need to be exorcised from Zemo’s mouth.

“Were we…happy?” Something is breaking in the Sokovian’s voice. Bucky doesn’t like it.

“We were. You were helping me with the goats; watching Lord of the Rings with me… We cooked together…”

“Cooked?” Zemo says, and he frowns, looking very unhappy all of a sudden. “I don’t cook…”

Bucky is then faced with the terrible truth: the man he was married to in that dream isn’t sitting in front of him: he was a construct of his mind.

Although, not all of him, it seems.

Zemo is still looking at him like he hung the stars, somehow. He still loves tea; still loves fur coats and expensive clothes; he’s still witty; and he’s still the man who knows Bucky the best.

Another truth then hits him like a truck: he’s not in love with a fantasised version of Zemo. He’s in love with Zemo, and with the potential of what their love could be.

After a while, the Sokovian chuckles darkly, and Bucky is surprised to see such disappointment and…sadness? in his eyes.

“Zemo?” he asks, drawing the other’s attention back to him. “What is it?”

“Nothing, James,” he says, “I’m only realising that I’ll never be able to compete, now.” He chuckles again, draws his knees up to his chest and hugs them to him. “Competing with a perfect version of yourself is an impossible task…”

“Why would you compete with yourself?” Bucky asks, incredulous. “What for?”

Zemo’s eyes meet his, and Bucky is once again floored by the intensity in that gaze. Just as he has been countless times before, in dreams and in reality. “You fell in love with a version of me that I will never be able to knock down from his pedestal in your heart, James… I’m just lamenting the fact that what would have once been a possibility – even if the chance was very slim – is now completely fated never to happen.”

Bucky feels like he understands, and yet, he needs more than cryptic words.

He stares at Zemo for a long time, lets his gaze wander down his face, taking in the freckles he once dreamed he kissed, the neck he once dreamed he marked. Eyes that are looking at him like he’s a puzzle too hard to decipher.

“Would you want this?” he asks, and the Baron gasps again.

“Of course I would,” he breathed, low enough that someone not enhanced might never have heard it. “But I’ll never have it, will I?”

Bucky surges to his feet in a second, and kneels on the bed next to Zemo, who now looks at him as if he’s just grown a second head. “Just say the word, Zemo. Ask for it. Please.”

Zemo stares at him, eyes drifting between Bucky’s, looking for a fracture, a proof that the super-soldier is mocking him. He finds none, and his next words are breathless. “James. I want you.”

Bucky doesn’t waste a second. He leans in, and kisses him.

According to ‘Dream Zemo’, their first kiss had been hurried, angry even; their first kiss in the dream had been tender, soft and loving. This one is neither, yet both.

Zemo moans when their lips meet, and he presses into Bucky, framing his face and threading his fingers in his growing hair, tongue seeking the warmth of his mouth like he is a drowning man.

Bucky’s hand runs under Zemo’s prison shirt and seeks out the softness of the Baron’s skin. He’s surprised to feel thin scars here and there, something he never expected but makes sense: he’s never seen the real Zemo naked, wouldn’t know the scars he might bear.

If possible, he finds it even sexier.

“Moja láska,” he murmurs, and Zemo moans deeper, like the sound of his native tongue is turning him on further. Bucky wonders how his subconscious could have known what the words meant at all…

Zemo pushes him onto his back and straddles him, their kiss paradoxically turning softer as he does. “James,” he breathes against Bucky’s lips, “if you give me this, I won’t let go, you know.”

Bucky’s steel blue eyes look up into honeyed pools of desire, and he laughs. “Do you want to play chess?”

Zemo doesn’t understand, of course, but he looks like Bucky’s laughter is a gift of the gods anyway. He smiles, the sight just utterly breathtaking, and kisses him again.

Bucky feels whole again.

Perhaps dreams may come true after all…