Red (Helmut Zemo's Version)

Chapter Five: Falcon

Laying on my back staring up at the ceiling, I begin to run through the day's events for the third time. Zemo had told me that he knew somehow of Bucky's plans to break him out of prison and asked whether I intended to assist him. I informed him that I had sworn to Bucky that I would help him bring honour back to Steve's name no matter what it takes and that my assistance did stretch to assisting in the prison break. At this he nodded, placed a sweet kiss on the back of my head and called back the guards, winking at me as he handed me my back and allowed me to leave the cell. Adrenaline coursed through my veins and my hands shook with a vicious intensity as I took my seat. Once the guards had left and the warden returned to supervise the session from a distance, my heart had slowed to almost a resting pace yet my hands continued to shake vigorously.

Now, with his words branded into the skin of my neck, my hands have finally subsided and the adrenaline has simmered down to just a dull buzzing sensation behind my temples. I replay those final moments over and over again, trying to make sense of how he knew about Bucky and failing to wipe away the feeling of his lips against my hair. As I continue to stare at the ceiling, coming up blank on each and every question I have, a ringing sounds beside my hips. With great reluctance, I reach for my phone, my muscles still burning from the warmth of his body. Bucky's name sits in obnoxious lettering on the screen as I place my thumb on the green button. I place the phone by my ear as I sit up, muttering an unintentionally blunt "What?". The familiar sound of Bucky's laugh drifts through the phone "Hello to you too, y/n." A sudden seriousness laces his voice "Look. I need to talk to you about Zemo" That name again. Why is it always about Zemo? "What about him?" I ask with a heavy sigh. "Sam and I are coming to the prison tomorrow. Do you think you could have everything ready by then?" He seems to be ignoring my frustration which does nothing but make it more prevalent. I swallow it down and take a few seconds to level my head before responding, "Yep, can do. I'll see you then." My thumb hovers over the red button and once he's finished saying "See you then, doll" I press it quickly to avoid further interrogation. Silently I scream into my pillow, sending it hurtling across the room alongside my phone. So much for being a lowly psychiatrist, in less than a day I'll be one of the most wanted women in America.

For the next few hours I pace around my room, packing valuables into a small suitcase alongside a small amount of clothing that was easy to move around in. My eyes fall on the purple box, once more, and while I know I shouldn't, I can't help but begin to transfer each of the items into the case. It can't hurt having one piece for formal events or undercover work. A brown envelope sits behind my table clock stuffed with fake identities and all of the different things Bucky has told me to bring. I deposit it in the case along with the letters from my drawer compartment and give my room the final once over. The final things on my list lay locked in a safe behind my favourite painting, safe for the moment. I decide to take a quick coffee break before returning and unlocking the safe. As soon as my hand rests on my gun it aches with recognition. Due to the lowly psychiatrist routine I've been committed to in recent years, I've had no real use for it. But now that she's back in my hand, I don't think I'll ever be able to lock her away again. She joins the case along with the couple thousand dollars I'd locked away for times like this and with that, I'm ready.

Morning comes sooner than I anticipated and before I know it I'm in my car, with the case in the back, driving down the highway and screaming the lyrics to any Taylor Swift song that Spotify decides I need to hear today. Over and over in my mind I'm repeating the words 'For Steve' and yet not even that seems to quash my guilt. Maybe it's because this isn't entirely about Steve anymore and I'm only just beginning to see that. Maybe it's because, as the days continue to pass, the desperation to hold him and touch him without the glass between us continues to build and build. Or maybe it's because, deep down, I know that Steve wouldn't have wanted this. But what he wanted seems to fall second to what I need now. For once I'm allowed to be selfish and hide behind false pretences. Preoccupied with my moral dilemma, I miss the prison entrance and am forced to do a lap around the building in order to reach it. Thankfully, the Berlin Correctional Facility is signposted well enough that it's easy to find your way back, even with a mind focused elsewhere.