Winterbaron one-shots

(TFATWS EPISODE 3 SPOILERS)

Zemo laid awake in his bed, before rolling onto his side. He felt horrendus. He had awoken from a nightmare, reliving when his family died. It was an atrocious feeling, and it bottled in his chest. He hadn't exactly found an outlet for it yet, and he didn't really trust anyone for therapy. You can't really blame him for his trust issues. The sokovian dragged himself out of bed, with much of a struggle. He had no motivation to get up, besides making James tea. He had promised he would this morning, even though he knows his James wakes up late. He did feel had for the supersoldier. The poor man was forced to do so many things against his will, and was so willing to be his best for Zemo. He felt immense guilt for contributing to some of James' fear. He made his way through the long halls, finally landing in the kitchen area. Zemo had on a nice, silk robe that was a 'classic turkish cotton robe' as the website James had ordered it from said. The sokovian danced his way on the marbel tiling, glad his feet were in soft slippers that matched the color of the robe. Zemo brought himself to the stove area, and placed the metal kettle on the burner. He was glad it was still gas, and not electric like most places were nowadays. He liked being oldfashioned sometimes, it brought him back to happier times. Zemo must've lost track of time, which doesn't happen often, because he could now hear the whistle of the kettle. He sighed, turning off the gas with the knob and watching the flame cut out. He grabbed a potholder, and poured some water into two cups, making the tea and placing the cups on the table. "You're up early," Bucky stated, clearly tired as he rubbed his eyes and leaned on the doorway. He clearly didn't have a good night, based on the red eyes and the red cheek area. 'Most likely a nightmare,' Zemo thought to himself with a small frown. "We a mission, James." He replied to the super-soldier, glancing at his outfit. It wasn't the best he's seen him in, but that'd have to change. They have to go Madripoor. To Selby.

Time skip to when they arrive in Madripoor

The soldier followed his handler wherever he went. He needed to protect this one, just like the others. "Winter Soldier, ready to comply?" His handlers voice questioned, and he looked up from the floor. The soldier straightened his back and looked at his handler, nodding his head a bit. He didn't make eye contact with his handler, having been taught that. "Soldier," His handler stated, this time in Russian, and he finally looked his handler in his eyes. His handlers eyes softened, tilting his head a little. "James, what's wrong?" He asked softly. The soldiers face contorted into confusion, narrowing his eyes at his handler. Who was this 'James', and why did his handler just call him them? was the thought running through the soldier's head. "James is unfit for this mission. Soldier at your service." The soldier finally responded, his voice hushed. The confusion on his handlers face made him question if he did something wrong, which he most likely did. The handler quickly glanced over at another male and said, "I'm unsure what happened, don't get upset with me. I'll sort this out- after we talk to Selby." He spoke, his english hushed, but accented. 'Sokovian', the asset thought, pinpointing the accent. "Zemo whatever you just did to him, i swear you will pay." The guy spit back angrily, and the asset moved inbetween the two in a swift step. Possibly two. "Soldier, stand down." The voice of his handler rung in his ears, and he immediately side stepped to be on the side of his handler, instead of infront. "Got a new lapdog, Zemo?" Some other voice said, and the soldier just stared at the bar counter, not exactly focusing on the conversation. "..This is not a lapdog, a mere bargain for a chat with Selby, you know how much she likes people to obey her." His handler stated, and the soldier finally glanced at the man. Saggy skin, darkened eyes, showing nothing other than anger and.. lust? The soldier made a swift move to shift himself behind his handler, his legs now squished between his handlers legs, and the barstool. "How much I gotta pay to get this pretty thing to myself? Shame about the hair, though." The guy stated, reaching a hand to brush against the asset's face. His handlers face turned into one of a disgusted one, and flicked the mans hand away from the assets face. "This 'pretty thing' as you stated, is not for sale. He is under my control and will not follow your disgusting commands." His handler spat, a hand going onto the soldiers lower back. It felt oddly.. possessive. Well, he understood that. His handler wanted him. No one else would have him.