Red (Helmut Zemo's Version)

Chapter Two: Pet

To y/n y/l/n,

Happy to hear from you and while I appreciate the detail and everything, you don't need to be so formal, doll. Or, Doctor now. Glad to hear you've gotten your PHD, I know you were working really hard for it all those years ago. I gotta admit I wasn't expecting for you to start your letter with a Taylor Swift reference but your way of telling these stories is highly entertaining. Shocked to hear about you letting a man tell you what to do though. (I'm just kidding before you come find me)

Thanks for the condolences, yeah Steve was a bit of a shock. Always thought I'd be the first of us to go but I guess not. I'm just tired of being angry with him and with the world. And with that god fucking awful John Walker asshole. Might have to book a little session with you, huh, doc? I guess knowing that getting this information from you on Zemo will help me restore the honour to the title he held makes it a bit easier to sleep at night. Not good by any stretch but you can't have it all. The nightmares still come and go, some nights worse than others. But anyway, I'll have the details of the closed funeral sent your way and I hope I'll see you there.

Missing you (but won't admit it),

Bucky Barnes

(ps. if you see Sam, don't mention any of this Zemo stuff to him, he'd kill me)
(ps part 2. Bruce says hi and that you need to call him at some point)
(ps again. this is so much more fun than texting)

Scanning the letter a second time, I can't fight the grin forming on my face. I always forget how much I miss the green guy until someone reminds me. In the earlier years it would be difficult keeping connections due to my constant working, yet Bruce called each night and that was enough for both of us. Since I moved out of New York to pursue my work with Zemo, I had rarely ever returned to the Avenger's compound and the calls became few and far between. Nevertheless, Helmut makes pleasant enough company through the day and the few calls I receive from The Avengers are enough to keep me content. Being their psychiatrist, hired by Tony to avoid any potential homicidal tendencies coming to light, was interesting to say the least. But being their friend, that was so much better (and stranger) than I could ever describe. Ever since the issue with my ex many, many years ago, even before the blip in which both Zemo and I were turned to dust, a connection so far gone from any I ever experienced with the victims has been building between the two of us. A subtle buzzing beneath the surface. The rush I get from knowing he could have me killed in minutes and the warmth that comes from the knowledge he would never.

I file away Bucky's letter in the secret compartment in my drawer and set out a pen and paper on my desk to remind myself of the fact that I need to respond to it when I return from work. Day by day, I seem to be spending more and more time within the prison walls. Whether its brutally attacking the malfunctioning coffee machine or allowing the baron to finish his monologue on Victorian literature, somehow I always manage to leave up to an hour later than I would have expected to. It's not like I really have anything to come home to. Being suffocated by the sheer emptiness of my apartment, light bulbs burst with no replacements, a layer of dust covering each and every surface. At least there's some life in the prison, even if it is limited.

Upon opening my wardrobe, I'm struck with the sudden realisation that, in the midst of sharing some of my notable Zemo stories upon unusual request from Bucky, I hadn't thought to clean the ever growing pile of dirty clothes upon my desk chair. A distinct lack of clean skirts is the first thing that sticks out to me. I could have sworn that my favourite black pencil skirt had been hanging up only a few days ago and I haven't had a chance to wear it since seeing it, much to my dismay. So where is it? In a mad frenzy I rush around my apartment, clad only in the underwear I laid out last night. In the many years I have worked for this particular prison I have never once been late and the idea of ruining that streak today over a missing skirt makes me sick to the stomach. Wearing a dirty one is always an option but I'm struggling to stomach the idea of sitting for hours on end in a skirt I've already worn one time more than I probably should have. So that becomes my last resort idea. For the minute though, scrambling around in the cold seems to be my best bet in the hunt for the skirt.

After around five minutes I am forced to accept defeat and hang my head as I start the slow walk back to my laundry pile to sniff test each of my skirts and pick the least dirty. Glamourous, I know. The winner seems to be a simple blue pencil skirt which I send hurtling over to the bed as I rummage through my drawer for a blouse.

After the debacle of the morning, I still manage to arrive on time, doused in perfume and chewing as much gum that can possibly fit in my mouth. With a heavy sigh, I straighten the fabric that clings to my body before stepping into Zemo's view, smiling wide enough to make my cheeks ache. Part of my brain tells me I'm overcompensating to hide my discomfort in the skirt which may be correct but I'll be damned if I ever listen to the logic of my own mind. "Good morning, doctor. If I were to be unprofessional I'd tell you that you look like a chipmunk with all that in your mouth. However, as I respect our professional relationship I will avoid mentioning it." he says, his stoic expression cracking into a small smirk momentarily. "Good morning to you too, Helmut. If I were to be unprofessional I'd tell you that your inmate uniform makes your butt look big. However, as I too respect our professional relationship I will also avoid mentioning it" Childish grins dance across both of our faces but fall almost as quickly as they appear.

We settle into our usual communications with me sitting in my seat facing him. Once in a while I am asked to enter his cell to perform a physical exam as the wardens have discovered I am the only person he will not attempt to violently struggle against but this isn't one of those days. I divulge the details of my hellish morning before beginning to focus the attention onto him. We conclude our initial assessments quicker than usual which gives us an extra few minutes before our first break. We start up some more small talk with him asking which magazine I'd brought for the day and allowing me to share some of the pieces I'd seen in it which had caught my attention. On one page Zemo's entire expression changes rather quickly before somehow settling back to the stony expression he usually holds. "Something catch your eye?" I ask, looking up from the magazine only to find him staring directly at me. He gestures to the long navy dress, made of a soft silk with a high leg slit, on the page. "That. It would look perfect on you. So very perfect. And I mean this with the utmost respect, you belong in that dress, Doctor" his eyes remain fixed on mine until I glance back down at the dress "I feel you may be mistaken there." I stifle an awkward chuckle "It's not really something I'd be able to pull off" I say, not moving my gaze from the page. "No it is you that is mistaken, my dear. Ah, my deepest apologies. Slip of the tongue, you see. My point still stands. however. That dress would look...красивая '' Now, I'll never claim to be fluent in Russian but working alongside three native speakers for long periods of time teaches you enough to get by. I don't know whether the slight warmth in my cheeks spans from his so called 'slip of the tongue' or that he just said I'd looked beautiful. One of the many mysteries of working with a gentleman. I pull the magazine closer to my face both to hide my shock and to study the dress closer.

After spending a few seconds processing what Zemo had said, I clear my throat slightly and speak "Don't let such a slip happen again, Helmut" . My confidence floods back and I place the magazine back into my lap, refusing to hide behind it any longer. "Now, I'm going to go and take my break so that the wardens can attend to their business. Please attempt to regulate your emotions until I return and allow them to do what they need to do" He gives me a small nod and responds with a simple "As you wish" before watching me as I set off down the hall.

The remainder of the day remains mostly eventful all the way up until I am preparing to leave for the night. Zemo has been entirely co-operative the whole session but it is becoming increasingly clear that he is growing agitated. I attempt to run through my final protocols quickly so that I can question his agitation before he grows completely restless. "Anxiously awaiting the moment I finally leave you be?" I ask with a warm smile, thankful that he and I have spent enough time together that formality isn't a major concern anymore. "Of course not. I could never see that as a moment of joy. I'm simply getting cold, that's all." He speaks rather quietly but gives me no real reason to question his statement. "Right. Well I'll let you get some rest, you have a physical assessment tomorrow. I'll see you then. Goodnight, Helmut" I lift my bag onto my shoulder with practiced ease as he begins to talk once more "Goodnight, pet. Ah-" he begins, cut off by my curt response "For the last time, Helmut. I'm not your pet. I'm your doctor" I say before taking off down the hall without another word.