Waking up from a nightmare was no news to Bucky, he was used to it, but that didn't mean he found it pleasant at all. His eyes were now wide open and slowly trying to get accustumed to the darkness of the room: he remembered that the bed was at this right, so he grasped a corner of the matress to get back on his feet. The sheets and the pillow were laying on the cold ground, all creased and sweaty: Bucky had acquired the habit of sleeping on the floor from a while and sadly it didn't seem like he was going to lose it anytime soon. Sam once told him about this conversation he had with Steve: they both agreed that as veterans sleeping on a fluffy bed was way harder than what they thought it would be, and Bucky agreed. He tried, but an uncomfortable sensation of his body being slowly swallowed would deprive him of his sleep every night. However, the black marble wasn't the most convenient place neither: he would maybe get a hour, two at best, of sleep, only to wake up from his usual nightmares all sweaty and with his heart beat pumping as if it was going to burst out of his chest. He rubbed his metal fingers against the back of his neck, feeling the little water drops sliding down his spine: knowing the night was now wasted, he decided to quickly put a t-shirt on his sticky body and quietly walk out of his room. Him, Sam and Zemo had accepted an entire floor of the building they were in as a temporary stay while they were in Madripoor, and as he was letting his glaze wonder over the entire salon he could notice how wealthy Sharon had gotten over the years. He didn't really allow himself to wonder how that happened, he didn't want to admit that the answer could have displeased both him and Sam. The room wasn't completely hidden in the dark: the windows weren't covered by the curtains and the lights of Madripoor's buildings mixed with the whiteness of the full moon highlited the surface of the precious furniture. Bucky was barefoot and as he stepped closer to the window he felt another cold shiver running through his weak body, he tried to ignore it while focusing on the sight in front of him. It was very late, perhaps four or five in the morning, yet the city was still quietly buzzing like a busy hive. It looked like a neon victorian slum, Bucky thought. You could spot some people on the street, almost everyone in Madripoor had a weapon on them when wandering around, you'd be a fool if you did anything less, the neon signs were still on even when the shops or bars that they belonged to had closed already and you could hear motorcycles passing by from time to time. Bucky tried to loosen up as the tension on his shoulder was growing in one of those ways he knew would lead to a panic attack, he closed his fists and tried to take deep breaths just like the therapist adviced him to do in such cases. But the therapist also told him to follow those specific three rules, and he was afraid he had just broken the most important one that day, after pretending to be the Winter Soldier. It was all an act, he knew that, or at least that's what he was desperately trying to tell to his irrational conscience, that was troubling him more than the usual that night. The events of the day were now coming back as waves of anxiety, as long as he was acting and punching his way out he had not find the time to think, but now that everything was quiet, he started to process all the things that happened in just few hours: he broke Zemo out of jail in the morning, then him and Sam proceeded to have an even more stressful flight on that ridicusly expensive jet only to arrive in Madripoor and being forced to put up a sadistic play and then escape with the help of a weirdly i-turned-bad version of Sharon Carter. Yes, it was way too much to handle, definitely too much. He disliked pretending to be the Winter Soldier, but he hated even more the fact that he had to follow orders given by Zemo, that man had a very punchable face, especially when he would test his patience with his salty comebacks. When he heard the command coming out of his mouth he had to comply knowing it served a bigger purpose to the mission, yet he couldn't help but doubt about his own will's strenght, that's why he tried to be as lucid as possible. Bucky was just staring at the lines on the palm of his right hand when he heard muffled footsteps coming from behind: his senses immediately put him on high alert and as he turned back to see Zemo, the feeling of danger didn't abandon his skin. The fact that the man was wearing a deep blue silk pajama didn't help the rage that was boiling in his veins, not only he had escaped from a prison, but he also managed somehow to call his butler to deliver him a bag full of fancy clothes. He didn't deserve to be this comfortable, to have these privileges, especially when he was having trouble with the smallest tasks. Baron my ass Bucky hissed in his mind, looking down the man in silence, waiting for him to say something, the muscles of his arms tense as the cord of a violin.
-I see I'm not the only one who couldn't sleep- Zemo gave him one of his usual sarcastic looks while moving closer to the stoves. He had the confidence to always make him at home wherever he would be, so he didn't bother to ask anyone the permission to open the fridge and look for milk. Bucky observed him in silence as he poked around in search for some honey and once he found it, he lit the gas fire, still ignoring the other man in the room, and started heating his beverage. The soldier felt the adrenaline adding up as soon as he saw the little flames dancing around the pan, they instantly reminded him of that bonfire: one second later his mind was back in Wakanda again. Ayo standing still in front of him, keeping a stoic face and slowly breathing in and out, the only sound in the entire forest was the crackling of the fire. Bucky had long hair back then, some strands were stuck together because of the sweat, and his face was a grimace of battled feelings. His mind was terribly heavy and ached as if someone poked his brain with tiny invisible needles, but nonetheless he was in control of his actions, the Soldier hadn't taken over him, even after Ayo pronounced the sequence of words to activate him. Apparently, he was free.
-James, did you hear me?- all of the sudden Bucky saw a hand waving at him
-What?-
-I asked you if you want some hot milk, didn't you hear me?- Zemo was pouring himself a good amount of milk and honey in a cup he found, another one was still waiting to be filled -It helped my son to sleep when he couldn't- he added, not waiting for an answer to hand over the drink to the rigid man who was staring at him. Bucky didn't say anything but accepted in silence the warm cup. Zemo walked over him and went to the couch without a word, and once he sat down, he scratched the bridge of his nose with his thumb, with a stressed look painted over his face.
-Not that I want to go back to jail of course, but the change of ambiance still had me a little-
-Don't worry, it won't be long before you can go back to your old habits- Bucky arched his lips in a grin and went back to the spot where he was standing before the man entered, in front of the window, so he wouldn't have to look at him.
-I have no doubt of that James, however we should find a way of dealing with each other in order to fulfill our reciprocate goals. Turns out I agree on something with Sam, you do have a staring problem-
-Guess what caused it- Bucky didn't turn, but his left hand started shaking a little bit. The Winter Soldier had always been able to stay put like a good trained dog, but James Bucky Barnes was a whole other story. It wasn't the first time he suffered from uncontrollable trembling or tachycardia, and he still hadn't figured out what could calm it. It was such an ironic sight, his vibranium arm, indestructible, an arm that was able to cause so much damage, shaking back and forth. He thought about putting down the cup, afraid its inside would spill over, but he didn't want Zemo to see his struggle.
-When I told you to attack...-
-Don't- Bucky stopped him before he could go further in his sentence. He had no intention of pursuing a discussion about that matter, especially not with him. He felt so close to a precipice, just one wrong word could have triggered him immensely, he felt miserable. He tried to close his eyes and pinched his right arm a little, just to ground himself.
-I have to admit you seemed very believable, I couldn't tell if you were for real or not - Zemo was quietly sipping his hot milk and once he finished it, he stood up to put the glass in the sink. From that angle he could see Bucky's profile highlited by the lights across the street. His nuckles had turned white from the grip around the cup, he could see he wasn't holding it, he was desperately clinging onto it, while stains of sweat marked his gray t-shirt and small drops slipped across his forehead. The times he had been alone with Bucky without turning him into the Winter Soldier were definitely few and this was if not the first, maybe the third.
-Can you tell me if you were acting?-
-Of course I was acting- Bucky spit out the words as if they were filled with poison - at least that's what I want to believe-
-I see. Maybe something is still in there. Maybe I wasn't wrong after all -
At this point Bucky wasn't even trying to hold back the tremors that started to afflict his entire body. His eyes were closed and one moment later he opened them only to find the cup shattered into pieces on the floor. He made a mess and he barely realized it was him who dropped the grip, he didn't even hear the noise. He looked at the remains of the cup and yet he felt unable to move a finger, hoping he didn't wake Sam or Sharon from their rooms.
-Stay there, you could cut yourself with the sharp bits-
When he raised his glance from he floor he saw Zemo coming over to pick up the pieces with a cloth to absorb the liquid. Of couse he had some pair of expensive slippers on that prevented him from any harm, unlike him, who was still barefoot.
-You know what they say, don't cry over spilled milk-
Five minutes after it looked like nothing happened, the mess was cleaned and no trace remained, except for the poor cup dismantled in the garbage bin.
-I'm not going to tell you what to do, but if we want to find Karli tomorrow we'll need mental and physical strenght, none of which you possess right now. So, if you want to do your job right, go and have some sleep-
Zemo didn't use a particular tone when speaking, but it still felt like an order to Bucky, and weirdly enough, it managed to tone his panic down, enough to finally move from his spot and slowly fluctuate close to the other man. He felt sore and dizzy, his body was drained from all energy, but a bit of warm did come from the milk he managed to drink and his eyelids had become just a little bit heavier. Zemo's hair was messy, his curls still ruffled, his eyes watery: he had finished his drink and he was getting sleepy as well. The two gave one last look at each other in silence and then proceeded to walk in different directions, heading towards their room.
-Goodnight James- Zemo opened his door and disappeared behind it before Bucky could say anything, but it's not like he was going to reciprocate the salute anyway.