Just ignore him. Pretend it never happened. And if he tries pulling some shit like that again…kick his ass!
Sam breathes in once then exhales before turning the doorknobs, opening the doors.
The dimly lit bedroom is somewhat small and compact compared to the rest of the apartment; about a fourth of it taken up by a California king sized bed situated close to the room's only window.
There is a wooden nightstand between the window and bed on which an Amazon Alexa and a small flask of that mint-scented oil he has seen Zemo rubbing on his skin after showering, stands.
There is a very large gold framed mirror decorating one wall and a few antique oil-paintings depicting European battles from the 17th and 18th centuries hanging from the other three walls.
Zemo is sitting on the edge of the bed, his back turned to Sam, watching the afternoon rain beating against the glass, reminding Sam somehow of a depressed Stay-At-Home husband with no purpose except wait around for his wealthy meal-ticket wife to come home so he can do the only thing he is kept around for (please her good so she won't replace him with another younger or more handsome guy); reduced to wearing a bathrobe all day (because why even bother!), day-drinking, perhaps bossing the maid and gardeners around in frustration with his own sad, unfulfilled, boring little existence and those crushed dreams that comes with living your life in a gilded cage where your voice and opinions matters absolutely none.
If Zemo has noticed Sam entering the room, he doesn't let on- just keeps staring out the window, down at the street a few floors below in utter silence.
As Sam turns to close the doors behind him, he catches a glimpse of Bucky, slouched lazily on the couch with a smug little smile playing on his lips.
He raises his hand and wiggles his fingers at Sam.
You motherfucker.
"You don't trust me to sleep alone, I gather."
It is more of a statement than a question.
Sam can see the back of Zemo's skull tilting slightly upwards as he bows his head, his husky voice sounding just a bit melancholy or maybe just tired.
"Not in a room with an exit. That would be real stupid of us, wouldn't it?"
Zemo gives off an almost inaudible snort.
"In Germany they were always watching. While you slept or showered, ate or…you know. Guards and phycologists behind acrylic windows and cameras everywhere, filming every possible angle. It makes you feel like a caged animal at the Zoo at first but in time you grow accustomed to the constant surveillance, the lack of privacy…to some extent at least…"
"Hey!" Sam interrupts him angrily, "I don't like this any more than you do but that is the way it is! If we could trust you, you would have this nice room all to yourself…but we can't, so you wont! You are our prisoner, Zemo, not our friend or buddy or any of that! and when you have fulfilled your end of the bargain and helped us track down Karli you are going back to prison - don't forget that! Just try and enjoy the freedoms you do have at the moment while you still can. And know this: things could be a lot worse for you than they are."
He lets that last sentence linger as he walks up to the bed and snatches one of the huge fluffy pillows and a wooly blanket lying on there.
"You want the bed?" Zemo casts a glance over his shoulder at Sam for the first time since he entered the room.
But Sam - irritated as he is - ignores him, throws the pillow down on the floor on the other side of the bed from where Zemo sits, then goes to lay down with his back towards the doors so he can keep an eye on his prisoner.
"Alexa…lights out!" He orders, only nothing happens so he tries again, this time in what he's sure is poorly pronounced Russian: "Alexa…otboy!...atboy?! Just turn off the fuckin' lights!"
The robot remains unresponsive.
"I think she is broken…in either language you were going for." Zemo mutters as Sam gets back up with an annoyed sigh, heading for the manual light switch next to the doors while thinking to himself: of course she is. How can you own so much expensive shit that doesn't work?
His finger is on the switch getting ready to flick it off when he hears the sound of Zemo's voice again, this time sounding uncharacteristically frail and – to Sam's ears - unsure of himself.
"Could you maybe just…*leave the lights on*? Please?"
Sam turns around, wanting to know why but then decides it doesn't matter, that it ain't none of his business whether or not Zemo is scarred of the dark or has nightmares of screaming, dying family members or whatever it is that sparks his weird preference.
Zemo is still sitting with his back towards him, staring out the window when Sam goes to lay down on the floor again, puffing the pillow before resting his head on it and pulling the blanket up to his chest, leaving the lights on as they were.
"Thank you."
Zemo mutters and Sam can hear the sound of bedsprings creaking as the sokovian lays down on the bed and adjusts his position to go with the softness of the mattress.
Sam pulls his phone from his pocket, looking at Sarah's latest text.
The boys wanted to let you know that they miss their uncle. As do I. Stay safe and come home soon. XoXo.
Something moves in his peripheral vision and Sam looks up and meets Zemo's dark brown eyes, peering down at him, his head sticking out from over the edge of the bed.
"What is it, Zemo?!"
Sam sighs and locks his phone up then lets it fall onto his chest.
"Earlier tonight, did my candor make you feel uncomfortable? If so…I apologize. Truly. I never meant for that to happen."
In the dim lights there is an intense glow in the other man's eyes that Sam cannot stand to look at in this moment so he averts his gaze, looking up at the ceiling instead.
There is a tiny, florescent star up there, glowing yellowish-green like those same stickers he bought for his nephews a few months back in one of the local bookstores in his hometown.
"I have found that being direct with people is almost always the better choice. It will save you a lot of trouble and heartache down the line. Being honest about your true feelings, I mean."
"Zemo…just…" Sam rubs the bridge of his nose while closing his eyes, "…can we please, pleaseforget you ever said that, and just go to sleep?!"
Wanting desperately to shut down the conversation, he turns over on his side, his back to Zemo, hoping it will be enough to make even Zemo understand that he needs to shut the hell up and leave him alone, but apparently the Sokovian is either not willing to or in the habit of letting sleeping dogs lie.
"But you're not listening to me, Sam…" he objects and Sam imagines him frowning behind his back. Every word he utters feels like a jab of a pointed stick into Sam's kidneys,
"…hiding your true feelings for someone is neither healthy for you norfor them…."
"OK, THAT'S IT!"
Sam jumps up and hits the light switch on the wall, engulfing the bedroom in almost total darkness except for the scant beams of moonlight, squeezing through the window.
"Keep your words of shitty wisdom to yourself, alright, Dr. Phil? Subject is closed! If I hear one more word from you about this ever again, we're going to have a fuckin' problem!"
In the moonlight he can make out the outline of Zemo's slim frame on the bed but thankfully not his features.
Right now, the last thing he wants to look at is that pouting and punchable little face he guesses Zemo is sporting.
"Goodnight!"
Sam crouches down, finds his spot on the floor and goes to lie down again, only when he lets himself fall backwards he misses the pillow and the back of his head hits the floorboards with a loud thump!
"Shit!" Sam mutters into the darkness as he grabs the pillow and places it under his head.
For a moment there is only silence between them then Zemo's puzzled voice fills the space:
"Sam, who is this…Dr. Phil, you speak off?"