Summary: The gang attends a party at Sharon's, on the hunt for information and maybe a little fun too. After all, alcohol does have a tendency to lower inhibitions and loosen lips.

AN: Hello lovelies, sorry for the delayed update! Things have been very busy as I'm preparing to move. On top of that writer's block has been a bitch lately (Thanks to my friend dannie333 for helping me snap out of it! If you love Zemo and have AO3 or Wattpad please do yourself a favor and check out her stories).

Anyways, this chapter has some serious warnings: Mentions of suicidal thoughts, self-harm, alcoholism, retelling of traumatic events involving the death of a loved one.

Title song: In Your Eyes by The Weeknd

(Not only does this song capture the inner turmoil of almost all of the characters at this point in the story, I also imagine that this song is playing when Zemo is dancing at Sharon's party and would highly encourage you to listen to it while reading.)

Chanel outfit inspo: pin/530369293626771057/ pin/530369293626771054/

Chapter 10: I Know It Hurts To Smile, But You Try To

With a frustrated sigh, Bucky finally put his book down. He had read the same page at least 10 times, and he still hadn't retained a single word. He looked at his watch. 4:45 AM. Only about 15 minutes had passed since the last time he had checked.

He was sitting alone in Sharon's living room, the light of one single lamp spotlighting his worn-out face in the darkness. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't lay in that room with his thoughts either. So, he had tried to distract himself with a book, which wasn't working. He was too full of anxious energy. The feeling that something bad was about to happen had crept up on him. It sat like a stone in his stomach. Unmovable.

Being in Sharon's company again had made him think about Steve more than usual. That came with a whole bag of mixed emotions. He was still pissed at Sam for giving the shield away. He was frustrated that it had been given to Walker, and he wasn't sure if they would be able to get it back. Seeing him in the uniform, with his hands on the shield, had made him sick.

He tried to focus on positive memories of Steve; they didn't cause him pain anymore. Still, they did remind him what was waiting for him after this mission was over. Nothing.

He wondered if maybe that was why he was acting so irresponsible and selfish. He was fucked the second he had allowed himself to think about Chanel in any way other than as a coworker. As soon as he had a taste of what his life could have been, at what had been taken away from him, he hadn't been able to stop. No matter how many times he told himself to leave her alone. She deserved better. More accurately, he felt that he didn't deserve her. It didn't feel right to be happy when so many people had suffered—were still suffering because of him. And what kind of partner would he be? He couldn't go a single day without being dragged down by the weight of his past. Who would want to come home to that? Sleep next to that? It would drag her down too.

He let out a frustrated groan and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying to quiet his thoughts. He turned the lamp off and sat back in the chair, focusing on his breathing.

He had started to calm down when he heard a door upstairs open and close quietly, followed by near-silent footsteps descending the stairs. He sat still in the dark, ready to pretend to be asleep if it was Zemo or Sharon.

When Chanel walked past without seeing him and made a beeline for the front door, he cleared his throat.

She spun around and barely stopped herself from screaming. "Jesus, Barnes! What the fuck are you doing sitting in the dark?"

Bucky turned the lamp on. "Going on a run?" His eyes swept down her body; it was almost November, and she was still dressed like it was June.

She's lucky we're in the middle of the ocean.

Chanel pursed her lips. "If I can sneak out of here...which apparently I cannot."

"You know it's not smart to go outside," Bucky smirked when she rolled her eyes at him. "But I think Sharon has a gym downstairs. And we promised Sam that I would train you, remember?"

"That we did." Chanel smiled. "Lead the way, soldier."

And there he went again; it was so easy to slip into this fantasy world with her. Maybe if he could just keep it about the mission and…his eyes briefly lingered on her abs...the sex, then he wouldn't feel too guilty. They would go their separate ways when the mission was over, and she would remain unharmed by him. He'd only have his own pain to deal with, and in his overextended life, coping with pain was the one thing he was good at.

Chanel groaned as she collapsed on her back onto the mat.

How long is he going to make me do this? Jesus Christ.

She thought her excessive runs made her body hurt, but this was on another level. Every muscle in her body ached. Bucky had made her jog around the gym and warm up on the punching bag before they started sparring. That had been almost two hours ago, and he still wasn't letting up.

"Come on, try again." Bucky extended his hand to help her up.

Chanel pushed it away. "Just leave me here to die. I can't do anymore."

Bucky chuckled. "What happened to 'I could take you' and 'fighting is a seduction'? Huh?"

Chanel sat up to glare at him. "Hey, I pinned you three times."

"Out of like 20," Bucky scoffed.

Chanel ignored him, continuing her defense. "And to be fair, normally, I would be fighting with weapons. I am only human, you know. I need the advantage."

She was annoyed at how totally unaffected he appeared to be. He was barely breaking a sweat. She hadn't made a mark on him. Meanwhile, she could feel about 10 bruises blooming all over her body.

Bucky pulled her to her feet. "Fine, use your knife then. I know you have one on you; they grow out of your hands or something."

"You know what, Barnes—" Chanel walked off the mat and picked up her tennis shoe, pulling a knife out of a hidden compartment in the sole, making Bucky laugh. "Last one." Chanel twirled the knife in her fingers. "Loser has to give me a massage later."

They circled around each other, waiting for the right time to attack

Bucky followed the knife as Chanel tossed it back and forth between her left and right hand. A tactic to keep the victim from knowing which hand the attack will come from. "How are you going to give yourself a massage, doll?"

He smirked when she lunged at him, knife in her right hand. He had guessed as much; most people attack with their dominant hand. He blocked it with his forearm and threw a punch toward her gut. She dropped the knife and caught it in her left hand, almost slashing the arm Bucky attempted to punch her with.

"Hey! Don't actually cut me."

In his pause to scold her, she kicked his left knee, making him crumple to the floor. When he was on his knees, she flipped the knife around and hit him across the face with the handle. She kicked him square in the chest, knocking him backward so she could pin him down.

"And this is the point that I would slit your throat." Chanel smiled cockily.

"That was better, but you cheated. And did you have to hit me so hard?"

"I didn't cheat! It's not my fault you paused to yell at me. And I barely touched you. That was like 50% effort."

"That was 50%?" Bucky stared at her incredulously. "I'm pretty sure you gave me a black eye."

Chanel rolled her eyes and helped him stand up. "That better not be an excuse to get out of the massage you owe me."

"Of course not. I play fair." Bucky handed her a water bottle.

"And that's why you lost," Chanel smirked between drinks of her water.

Bucky watched her, looking for any hint at what she was actually feeling. "So, was this okay? In place of your run?" Chanel tilted her head slightly in confusion. "Because you run after your nightmares...did this do the trick since you couldn't leave?"

Chanel studied him before answering. At this point, she shouldn't have been surprised; he noticed everything, apparently. "I thought this was just about training me, so I don't die?"

"It is. But as your friend, I wanted to be there for you."

Chanel hummed, not wholly comfortable with the line between friendship and something more that was already getting blurry. "Yes, it did the trick. Thanks. Shall we hit the showers?" She turned and walked away before he could answer. And, of course, he followed.

"Which one says, fuck me, but don't fuck with me?" Chanel looked to Sam expectantly as he appraised the two outfits laid out on the bed.

After her training session in the gym and the test of her flexibility in the shower with Bucky, which left her wondering how she was possibly going to give him up at the end of the mission, the day had passed by slowly at Sharon's. But now it was finally time for the party she was hosting for her clients. Sharon had given them all something nice to wear to blend in. Sam was dapperly dressed in a brown turtleneck and a camel-colored leather jacket Chanel told him he should steal.

Sharon had given Chanel four different outfits to choose from. After an hour of debate, she had narrowed it down to the two Sam was currently studying.

"I guess this one." Sam pointed to the first, a black lace bodysuit; it was sheer, like lingerie, paired with high-waisted black trousers and a tailored black blazer.

"Exactly what I was thinking." Chanel went to the bathroom to change and finish her hair. She left it straight and flowy down her back.

She was glad she didn't have to wear a disguise anymore, the blonde was fun for a bit, but the wig was itchy. And applying makeup had always been too much work for her to bother.

"You're sure we can trust Sharon?" She yelled from the bathroom.

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing she couldn't see him. "For the hundredth time, yes. I trust her."

Chanel hummed in reply, still not convinced.

"So I get that you're in love or whatever, but you and Leila have been off for a while. Why are you ignoring Sharon's advances?" Chanel walked out of the bathroom and smiled at Sam's flustered face.

"I don't like to mix work with pleasure." He was suddenly in a hurry to leave the room.

Chanel followed, still laughing. "You're missing out."

"Yeah? Is that why you've been complaining about being sore all day? Is Bucky really that good?"

"I'm sore because we trained this morning for like two hours. But yeah, he's pretty fucking good."

Sam gagged, making Chanel laugh again.

"You're the one that asked!"

"After you two woke me up last night, I was too curious not to."

"You're deflecting again. Sharon—?"

"It's just weird."

"Why?"

"Steve."

Chanel scoffed in disbelief. "Sam, he's gone. You and Bucky both need to crawl out of his ass already."

"Lovely." Sam rolled his eyes and quickly descended the stairs.

"Looking sharp, both of you." Sharon smiled at them as they joined the group downstairs.

"Thanks for the clothes. Your style actually doesn't suck that much." Chanel winked as she took the glass of scotch Sharon held out to her.

Her eyes found Bucky leaning against the wall, and Chanel nearly choked on her drink.

How is it possible for him to look more attractive every time I see him?

He was dressed in black on black as well. His typical jeans and t-shirt had been paired with a nice blazer.

Definitely taking that off of him later.

Before she could make her way over to him, Sam pulled him into a conversation, so Chanel turned her gaze to Zemo. He was sitting in a chair near the bar, looking contemplative. His fingers tapped on his glass, in tune to a melody only he could hear.

Chanel floated over to him, appraising the outfit he wore. Never one to be out dressed, the Baron had chosen a Venice blue suit that complimented his eyes, which sparkled to life when he fixed them on Chanel. The top few buttons on his white linen shirt were undone, showing a peek of his chest hair and a thin gold chain around his neck.

Zemo saw the way her eyes lingered on the necklace and smiled to himself. "Shall we resume our act from last night?"

Chanel raised her eyebrows in surprise; he seemed to be in a better mood than he had been earlier in the day. She assumed it had been caused by the fact that they still couldn't make a move on Nagel. She wondered how many drinks he had thrown back already to drive this change in attitude. What was left in her own glass slid smoothly down her throat before she sat in his lap. She was prepared to one-up him at every turn.

"I hardly think that's necessary. I'm not playing a role anymore." She smiled innocently at him as he refilled both of their glasses.

"Are you not?" He challenged, a knowing smirk on his face.

Before Chanel responded, Sharon was clearing her throat behind her. Chanel turned her head slightly to look up at the blonde woman's annoyed and slightly disgusted face.

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

"Something about getting information on the serum from your fancy clients, don't worry, we won't embarrass you." Chanel offered her a small smile.

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Lay low. Blend in. Try to stay out of trouble. I'll see what I can find."

"Trouble," Zemo whispered only to Chanel with a mischievous smile as Sharon huffed her way out of the room.

Chanel giggled and stood up, downing her second drink. "I don't know that laying low and blending in is really in your wheelhouse." Chanel appraised Zemo's outfit again. Everything about him begged for attention.

"And what about you?" He let his eyes linger on the sheer lace wrapped around her like a candy wrapper he wanted to tear open with his teeth. "How is anyone to be expected to keep their eyes off of you?"

"That's what I'm hoping for. Try not to get too jealous." Chanel winked at him before turning on her heel and leading the way to the art gallery.

Zemo downed his drink, his fifth one in the last hour, as he watched her leave. When Sharon had first mentioned the party, Zemo quickly decided to let himself enjoy this evening. He needed to blow off some steam before he combusted.

Bucky and Sam stepped in line with Chanel as they walked into the already raging party. The people in High Town were much different than the people they had encountered in Low Town. However, as they watched pretty people throw away money on overpriced liquor and pass party drugs around while they writhed on the dance floor, it was clear that just as much sin occurred here as it did in Low Town.

"What are you up to?" Bucky had to lean down to shout in Chanel's ear.

Chanel was searching the crowd for a target, anyone she thought might be more than just a young partyer. "I'm looking for leads."

"Sharon said to stay out of trouble."

Chanel laughed and gave him a look that said, 'do you really not know me at all?'

"Yeah, you and Sam just try to act like you're actually having fun."

Bucky watched Chanel disappear into the crowd. Sam and Zemo took off in opposite directions, and Bucky opted to sit at the bar where he could keep tabs on Chanel. He watched as she flitted from group to group, no doubt fishing for information while she charmed them. While shooing away the tenth woman who had tried to approach him since he had sat down, he lost sight of Chanel for a moment. When his eyes zeroed in on her speaking with Yoshe, the tall mobster from the previous night, he cursed under his breath. He started to move in her direction, Yoshe would know by now who Chanel really was, but he froze when he saw them embrace.

She really is a charmer.

Chanel grew tired of speaking to the partygoers; none of them had any reliable information. She talked to some of Sharon's clients, who had even less valuable information. With irritation written all over her face, she made her way back to the bar and sat next to Bucky, who ordered her a drink.

"Find anything? I saw Yoshe."

"No, these people are useless." Chanel downed her drink in two gulps, and Bucky signaled for another one. "Yoshe worried me at first, but she didn't call me Angel Eyes for nothing." Chanel wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "She told me she heard the Power Broker was here tonight, but none of these people scream criminal mastermind to me."

Chanel sighed and took the second drink from Bucky. She took a big gulp before spitting it back into the cup in disgust. "Is this just straight water?" She turned around and ordered another vodka. "Don't look at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you like anything." Bucky turned away from her.

"Yes, you are, all judgy. I can handle my liquor. Besides, it's better than the alternative."

"Which is?" Bucky furrowed his brows in concern.

"Not appropriate party talk."

Chanel made a point to sip on her drink this time. Her drinking had slowly gotten worse over the past several months. She found that her dark thoughts and the desire to do anything to feel something other than her pain were quieted by alcohol. It was a slow progression, so she never felt like she had a problem until suddenly she was drinking every day without a second thought. By then, it was too late to stop it. But she rarely thought about hurting herself anymore, so she took it as a win.

Sam joined them at the bar, taking a seat on the other side of Bucky.

"Looks like you guys are having just as much fun as me." Sam was surprised Chanel was sitting at the bar rather than enjoying the party; this should have been right up her alley. "Everything good?" He yelled across Bucky to Chanel.

"All good. No one here knows anything; feels like a waste of time," Chanel yelled back.

Sam had to agree with that, but he still hoped Sharon would be able to dig something up.

As the evening dragged on and the party got more crowded and somehow even louder, Chanel, Sam, and Bucky remained on their barstools, growing more annoyed by the minute. It showed. All of them sat facing the dancefloor with pronounced frowns on their faces.

Chanel smiled a little when she caught sight of Zemo chatting with a pretty blonde woman about a piece of art. She looked wealthy, and her no-nonsense Hermѐs dress differentiated her from the young party people on the dance floor. Chanel made a mental note to find out what he talked to her about. He looked up and caught her eye, sending her a smug wink that she rolled her eyes at. After a few minutes, he joined the group at the bar.

"What happened to blending in? You all look dreadfully bored."

Chanel could smell the liquor coming off of him as he yelled too loudly in her ear, but she couldn't judge. She was downing her 5th or 6th drink of the night; she had lost count.

"We are bored. We have better things to be doing right now."

"That doesn't sound like you." Zemo tilted his head, fixing a quizzical stare on Chanel.

"I'm tired. These people were useless, which means I wasted my precious time getting hit on and felt up for nothing."

Zemo nodded thoughtfully. "No reason to waste a perfectly good party. When is the next time we'll be in this position again? Come dance with me." Zemo tried to pull Chanel off of her stool, but she resisted.

"I don't think so. I can't dance, remember?" Chanel was amused by Zemo's demeanor. He wasn't drunk, maybe tipsy, but he had let go of something, clearly set on enjoying his evening.

"Neither can I. '' Zemo shrugged and finished his drink before backing up to the dance floor, beckoning Chanel to follow.

Chanel shook her head and leaned back against the bar to watch him, fighting the smile threatening to crack through. He really couldn't dance, but it didn't matter. He looked almost happy, and Chanel couldn't help but laugh at his goofy dance moves.

"You really shouldn't encourage him. He's just going to get more annoying," Bucky grumbled.

Chanel looked up at him and over at Sam, who looked equally perturbed by Zemo's good mood. Chanel then realized she must have looked the same, sitting next to them. Stuffy and boring.

"Fuck it." She finished her drink and sauntered over to Zemo on the dance floor. She was drunk enough to feel like she actually could dance as she tried to copy the movements of the other women around her.

Bucky rubbed his eyebrow and tried not to stare too much. Sam patted him on the shoulder, capturing his attention.

"You could have asked her to dance, don't be a sore loser."

Bucky narrowed his eyes. "Is it impossible for you to mind your own business?"

"Woah, touchy. I figured getting laid would mellow you out."

Sam laughed and grabbed Bucky's arm when he tried to leave the bar. "Sit down, drama queen. I'm just messing with you. You know, like friends do?" Sam nodded in approval when Bucky sat back down.

Bucky's eyes searched for Chanel again, and he couldn't help but grit his teeth. He turned back to Sam if only to distract himself.

"That doesn't bother you? He's a terrorist. Why does he get to enjoy himself at all?"

"Hey man, you're the one that broke him out of prison; I don't know what you want me to say."

"So, is that a no? You're telling me you're not bothered?"

"I mean, I'm not thrilled, but I'm just happy he's not causing any problems for us right now. The bar is low."

Bucky crossed his arms, stealing another glance at Chanel. She was swallowing a shot that Zemo was pouring into her mouth.

"Are you sure Chanel knows what she's doing? She's had a lot to drink. And she said something weird earlier, about her drinking being better than the alternative." Bucky thought if he could make Sam see what he was seeing, then Sam would drag her off the dancefloor, and he wouldn't have to come off as overprotective and needy.

"Talkative tonight," Sam awkwardly shifted in his seat. "I'm confident in her. I know the drinking is bad, but I didn't know how bad until I asked her to help out with this. I was worried that if I changed my mind and told her to stay home, it would be...bad for her. I can't tell you any more than that."

Bucky nodded, unsatisfied, and turned his gaze back to the dancefloor again.

Should I go over there? Maybe Sam was right.

Now I know I'm losing it.

She does look happy, though. I haven't seen her smile like that.

Sam watched the flickers of emotion as they played out on Bucky's face. "If I can butt into your business again—" Sam paused and waited for Bucky to turn back towards him, "she told you what she wanted out of this. If you can't handle it, you need to tell her."

Bucky stared through Sam, he knew he was right, but he wasn't going to admit it. "We can go back to not talking now."

Sam shrugged, and they both turned back toward the dance floor and watched others have the fun that they wouldn't allow themselves.

Chanel's vision had gotten blurry, and she felt light-headed, but when a tray of jello shots passed by them, she grabbed one and slurped it down quickly.

"Relax, you're too stiff," Zemo whispered in her ear as his hands gripped her hips.

Her world was spinning off its axis, both from the alcohol and from Zemo's breath on her neck. His arms snaked around her waist, filling her mind with thoughts that she should not be having about a mark. He never gave her a moment to attempt to refocus; he knew his effect on her. When she felt his lips ghost over her ear, a nervous giggle slipped through her lips.

"You can't dance either; I'm not taking pointers from you."

When Zemo didn't respond to her taunt, she tilted her head back against his shoulder to look up at him. She barely stopped herself from licking her lips in response to the hunger she saw in his eyes. The thrill of seeing the power she held over him brought her back to her senses. Now was her time to strike. She turned around so she could wrap her arms around his neck.

"Who was that blonde you were talking to?"

Zemo was caught off guard by the question. His eyes searched her face for a clue but found none. "No one of importance."

Chanel raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why? Are you jealous?" Zemo smirked when Chanel's mouth popped open in surprise. "I have to listen to James fuck you, but I can't talk to a woman without you getting green eyes?"

Chanel rolled her eyes. "Forget it," she mumbled, her cheeks burning in the darkness.

"It's okay; I'm getting even with him now. If I'm not careful, he might just come over here and murder me in front of everyone."

Chanel glanced over at the bar where Bucky and Sam still sat. Bucky did look pissed. He was doing his best to look anywhere other than in their direction. She had planned on retiring with him upstairs as soon as it was appropriate to leave the party, but now she had a goal. She wanted to know who the blonde was and what she had told Zemo, if anything. Maybe he was just fucking with her. But she needed to prove that her manipulations were working and that she could still do this job.

As if he could read her thoughts, Zemo leaned back down to her ear. "I'll risk it. Let's get out of here."

Chanel tore her gaze away from Bucky and smiled up at the Baron, nodding her head in agreement. She let him drag her from the dance floor and past Sharon, who was still talking to clients. She shot Chanel a disapproving glance as she and Zemo passed.

As she followed Zemo upstairs, she steeled herself for what was about to happen. It certainly wasn't the first time she had been in this situation, but typically, she was prepared to kill the mark if things went wrong. She couldn't do that with Zemo. Bucky would be pissed if she killed their only lead, and Sam would be pissed if she killed anyone. Sharon probably wouldn't be too happy if she murdered someone in her guest room. And despite her efforts, for some reason, Chanel liked Zemo. That was a complication she had been trying to avoid this time around. She was nervous, and she was berating herself for drinking so much.

She and Zemo had barely made it up the stairs, falling into fits of laughter more than once.

His guest room felt stifling; Chanel could feel her skin flushing as the giggling stopped and Zemo slowly approached her. His half-lidded, vulturine eyes tracked the flush as it spread from her cheeks, down her neck, and blossomed over her chest. Her heartbeat skyrocketed as Zemo continued to slowly approach her. The thump of her back hitting the wall and their shallow breaths the only noises to be heard.

Chanel had thought he was handsome upon their first meeting, but through her alcohol-fueled gaze, he looked regal, and all she wanted to do was submit to his rule.

Goddammit, Chanel, focus. You're not supposed to want this.

She tried to speak; to gain control of the situation, but the words choked and died in her throat when Zemo leaned in as if he was going to kiss her. The sharp smell of expensive whisky burned her nose; his lips were so close, and she instinctively licked her own as she wondered what he would taste like. He stopped short, leaving her wanting, as his finger gently brushed her cheek.

"Eyelash," he whispered and held it out to her. "It's good luck."

Chanel swallowed thickly, and then without breaking eye contact, she gently blew the eyelash off his finger.

Zemo was silent again, staring at her intently as if the answer to some unknown question was hidden in the depths of her gilded irises. Finally, without warning, he grasped the back of her neck and jerked her forward until his lips collided with hers. Chanel's body responded on its own accord, and she kissed him back hungrily. They were sloppy drunk kisses with no finesse and misplaced passion. Zemo's hands slid as slowly as he could manage over her hips, waist, and up to her breasts. The feeling of her soft, warm flesh, so pliant in his grasp, was almost too overwhelming, and he moaned into her mouth as he continued to explore her body.

Chanel groaned when he pulled away from her to catch his breath. As she stared at his flushed face and watched his chest move up and down rapidly, she couldn't remember what she was supposed to be getting out of this. She didn't care anymore, and her hands finally buried themselves in his thick hair, pushing that one stubborn lock out of his face. She kissed his jaw, nipping at the skin with her teeth until he yanked her head back and pressed his lips to her neck.

"Tell me you want this, draga," Zemo muttered against her skin.

"Please, Baron."

Zemo stopped kissing her, his hands stilled at her sides, and he rested his forehead on hers. "Don't call me that."

"What? Why not?" Chanel pouted, trying to kiss him again, "it's hot." She traced one finger over his gold necklace and dropped her voice to a sultry whisper, "Please," she begged again, "I'll be so good for you, Baron Zemo."

Zemo backed away from her, running his hands over his face. Chanel frowned, confused by the retreat and by the stirring of anger and pain in his eyes.

"It's a taunt." He took another step away from her. "I'm a Baron of a country that no longer exists. A useless title," he spat.

Chanel flinched but stood frozen against the wall. The change in mood had snapped her back to reality and the boozy fog slowly lifted. "Zemo, I—I didn't think—I'm sorry."

As quickly as his mood had darkened, he pushed it to the side. His smile was strained, but he apologized, blaming it on the alcohol.

"Wait here. I'll be right back." He kissed her hand in another attempt to show his regret for losing his composure.

Chanel furrowed her brows as she watched him shed his jacket and shoes and head back downstairs, leaving her alone.

She took her heels and jacket off and sat crossed-legged on his bed, waiting for him to return.

Is this a test? What does he want me to do?

I can't believe I lost control like that. Again.

Get it together, Chanel; this is a job.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Bucky. His name on her phone shot a pang of guilt through her, which she quickly shrugged off.

Where did u go

Chanel typed a quick response.

We left. Upstairs. Think he has some info.

She sat her phone down as Zemo reentered with a tray of tea. That's not what she had been expecting, not after the way he had kissed her just moments before.

"Ginger tea?"

Chanel nodded, and he handed her a steaming mug before sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Men don't usually try to sober me up after dragging me back to their bedroom and making out with me." Chanel watched for his reaction as she sipped her tea.

Zemo smiled slightly. "I apologize. That wasn't my original intention. We've both had too much to drink."

"It wasn't your original intention?"

"Did you really think it was?"

Chanel didn't answer him, afraid of saying the wrong thing. She couldn't read him, and it was irritating her.

"Or is that what you hoped, draga?" Zemo fixed his expectant stare on her, not letting her weasel out of answering.

"Were you talking to pretty women all night just waiting for me to notice?" Chanel was pleased with the amusement she saw flicker in his eyes.

"So you were jealous." Zemo wasn't asking; he said it as if it was a fact.

He unconsciously leaned closer to her, and Chanel slid her hand over his while she matched his movements. When she saw his eyes move down to her lips, she pulled back and stood up. "Who was she?"

Zemo laughed at her crossed arms, his hand burning from where she had touched him. "I told you she was no one."

Chanel took a step further away from him. A threat.

"I was only talking to her to see if she knew anything that might help us." Chanel moved towards him, and he continued. "She didn't know much, but she did tell me that the Flag Smashers used to work for the Power Broker. Apparently, the Power Broker is the one that gave them the serum, so they could serve as bodyguards. What a ridiculous reason to play God." Zemo's disgust was evident in his voice, and he hadn't noticed that Chanel was by his side again.

"That is interesting."

Chanel was disappointed. She had hoped for more, but it was at least something, and every piece of information was important.

Chanel 1, Zemo 0.

Zemo stood up and discarded their teacups before laying back on the bed, his hands behind his head. "Why didn't you say anything about Stephan taking the serum?"

Chanel stiffened; this was a conversation she had been hoping to avoid. She turned to face him; he fixed her with a pointed stare, and she could tell he was trying his best to keep the rage and disgust off of his face.

"I don't think I really processed what happened. And I didn't say anything because—well, I know how you feel about it."

"And you care for him?"

"You know that I do. I was there when you told Sam you didn't intend to leave your work unfinished. I can't help but think that means you intend to destroy not only the serum but the soldiers too."

"What else would you have me do? You can't imprison them."

Chanel didn't have an answer. Those kinds of decisions were not her expertise. She was a spy; she killed who she was told to without asking questions. The morality of who lived and who died was never her concern.

"You saw what he's capable of; he can't be allowed to continue on this path."

"So only you get to play God then?" Chanel spat. She could feel her blood simmering, already close to a roiling boil.

"I'm only correcting the mistakes of people who were drunk on power."

"You really don't think the Avengers did any good? Natasha wasn't a super-soldier. She didn't have any powers. She put herself in danger every day to protect us. She gave her life for us."

Zemo laughed darkly at how childish she sounded. "She was made into a weapon just like James. How many people did she kill before she decided to be a hero? And how many after? All the Avengers did for me was steal everything I ever loved."

Zemo was so lost in his own anger that he overlooked Chanel's until she was on top of him with a dagger against his neck. His eyes widened in surprise; he had unintentionally touched a nerve. A barely noticeable smirk flashed across his face, signaling his pleasure at getting the psychological upper hand.

He gently pushed her hand away from his neck. "Did I say something to upset you?"

"Natasha. Don't talk about her like that." Chanel put the knife back against his throat and held his wrist down. "I've already lost too much. I'm not losing anyone else. Are we clear?"

"I'm sorry. I can tell you cared deeply for her, and I know what that feels like."

"The world isn't as black and white as you make it seem." Chanel finally released him and cursed herself for losing control yet again; that's what he wanted.

"We should have stayed at the party. We were having such a lovely evening." Chanel sat against the headboard and put her dagger back into her ankle holster.

Zemo hummed in agreement.

"What was all that anyway? You were almost like a totally different person."

"I needed to let off some steam. Though apparently, I didn't release enough."

Chanel had composed herself enough to see a weakness. She leaned closer to him, tentatively placing her hand on his shoulder. "Trust me, there's not a party lively enough in the world to make you forget those that you lost. I've tried."

"I suppose not, but it was a nice distraction."

"Will you tell me about them? I recently discovered that happy memories don't have to be so painful."

Zemo studied her face, not sure if this was a trap. "Are you sure? It's late, and drunk or not, you can't possibly be that interested in my life."

"Of course I am." To prove her statement, Chanel sat straight up and crossed her legs like she was waiting on storytime. "Just one story couldn't hurt. If you want."

Zemo smiled at her eagerness and decided to tell her the first memory that came to mind. It was mundane, nothing special like a birthday or milestone. Just a memory of taking his son to the park. That story led into another and another until Chanel was softly snoring on his shoulder. He gently moved her to the other side of the bed and got up to turn the light off. He laid on the couch across the room and continued to relive his memories until he drifted to sleep.

Bucky laid awake, staring at his phone. Since he had bought it, he had never once looked at it this much. His texts to Chanel had gone unanswered since she had disappeared with Zemo. He had tried to put it out of his mind.

You told her you'd be cool about this.

Besides the mission, if she wanted to spend her evenings with other people, she had the right to do so.

That's what he had agreed to.

But the thought of Zemo getting to touch her, feel her, hear the pretty noises she made, hearing her moan his name—he got out of bed, frustrated. He wanted to do something, go on a run, hit someone, but he was trapped. He paced around his room, taking deep breaths. He had almost calmed down when he heard the first scream, followed by another. Logically he knew that if Chanel was with Sam, he would be adept at taking care of her, but he needed an excuse to see her.

He bolted from his room and opened Sam's door, but she wasn't there. His anxiety increased even more as he made his way down the hall to Zemo's guest room. He hesitated in front of the door, not sure what he would find when he opened it. He started to make out their voices through the door. It sounded like Chanel was okay, just agitated. He heard Zemo ask her who Cameron was and that made him release the handle and press his ear to the door, eavesdropping on their conversation.

"What did you say?" Chanel's voice was sharp as if Zemo had said something offensive.

"Cameron. You were saying that name in your sleep."

Zemo had woken up just before she'd bolted up screaming. Not wanting to make matters worse, he had turned on the bathroom light so she would know he was there. Chanel had sat on the bed panting, eyes wild, before she started to tremble, and Zemo went to her. He had gone to the edge of the bed, shushing her and smoothing her hair down until her breathing was somewhat normal.

Now he there sat on the edge of the bed while she hugged her knees to her chest, avoiding looking at him.

"He was an ex. A real one."

Zemo knew by the tone of her voice that this was something big. Something that she didn't talk about.

"Did he hurt you? Is that why you are afraid of him?"

Chanel laughed darkly. "Never. It's me that I'm afraid of." She looked at him then as if she had only just realized she was talking out loud. "I'm sorry I woke you. I should go."

Zemo grabbed her hand. "You know I've done many terrible things in my life. You read the files, right?"

Chanel nodded, not sure where he was going with this.

"I know what self-hatred feels like."

It didn't take much more than that for Chanel to spill her heart out. As if she had been waiting for the opportunity.

"He died when I was 18. Car crash. It was my fault."

Zemo didn't say anything; he just stared at her sympathetically, waiting for her to expand on her story.

He offered her his hand again for encouragement. She took it.

Fuck it.

She gripped his hand tightly and explained what had happened that night, knowing the tears would come and letting them fall when they did.

She told him every detail.

She had been driving Cameron home from a party, and she probably wasn't paying enough attention to the road. The next thing she knew, she was tumbling through the air, and shattered glass was flying around her. A drunk driver had slammed into them, throwing them off of the road and igniting her car into flames. She remembered the slowly growing heat and seeing Cameron slumped over in the passenger seat. In retrospect, she had subconsciously known that he was already lost to her. Still, she desperately tried to reach him anyway. Clawing at the leather seats, trying to pull herself toward him, she had left behind animalistic gashes in the fabric.

She didn't remember the massive gash on her thigh or the physical pain she must have been in.

A bystander had witnessed the wreck and saved her life, holding her back while she fought him and screamed at him to go get Cameron.

All she remembered after that was the pain of her heart being ripped out of her chest, stomped on, shattered into pieces, and then haphazardly shoved back in her chest as if Dr. Frankenstein himself had been there.

Monster.

Sam had eventually filled the gaps in her memory.

Upon realizing how young she was, another bystander had found her phone and hit redial, calling Sam. He had rushed to the scene and got there just in time to ride with her to the hospital.

She had to be sedated for them to treat her. They kept her asleep for 3 days. When she woke up for a split second, she didn't remember what had happened, and everything was okay. Then she remembered, and the grief was so crushing that she thought she might suffocate.

The next day Sam had caught her in the bathroom with two syringes of stolen morphine. If he hadn't intervened, she knew that she would have done it; plunged the needles into her skin until they took all of the pain away, forever.

After that attempt, she couldn't bring herself to seriously try again; she couldn't do it to Sam. No matter how much she had wanted the quiet embrace of death at the time.

"I didn't even get to say goodbye to him. They had to have a closed casket at the funeral. Because of the fire." She was fully sobbing now and had to stop talking to catch her breath.

Finding himself in the odd position of comforting a woman he had been trying to manipulate for the past several days, Zemo just stared at her for a few moments, not sure what to do. He had thought this story, whatever it was that she had been hiding, might have given him leverage over her. But now, he felt terrible for ever considering using it against her. The accident hadn't even been her fault. She was destroying herself over something she couldn't possibly have prevented.

Tentatively he scooted closer to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. This made her cry harder, and he started to move away, afraid that he had overstepped. But she clung to his shirt and held him there, desperately. Zemo wondered how long it had been since she had talked about any of this.

So much pain at such a young age. No wonder she is so tough. So overprotective.

"Draga, it's okay," he shushed her until she stopped crying. "You can't blame yourself for this; you did nothing wrong."

"I'm not done." She took a deep breath but didn't dare to look at him. "After I left the Air Force and had some training from Nat, I tracked down the driver that hit us that night. He had gone to prison, but his conviction was overturned on a technicality. Cameron's whole life was taken away; my whole life was taken away, and he didn't even spend a full two years behind bars." The anger in Chanel's voice quickly overtook the sadness. "I bid my time, working up the nerve but also trying to find any reason to leave it alone. I kept tabs on him; he was still a drunk. Didn't even remember the accident when I finally confronted him. It was a few months after I lost Nat. I didn't torture him. I made it quick. But I made sure he knew what he had done."

"How did you do it?"

"Same way I did Selby. Just like they trained me."

A slight chill passed through Zemo's body in response to the cool, detached tone of her voice. He could see her, stalking silently through the night. Quiet, circling her prey, invisible until she wanted him to see her. By then, when the terror-filled his eyes, it would have been much too late.

He frowned when he realized that she frightened him. As if it only just now occurred to him that he was playing a dangerous game with a lethal spy.

"You know I would have done the same thing. Probably much worse than that, actually."

Chanel knew. That's why she was telling him. It wasn't a play. It wasn't an attempt to manipulate him. She needed this, needed his validation. Needed someone who understood.

"Is there anything I can get you? Do you want some more tea? Maybe something stronger?"

Chanel shook her head. "I just really want to sleep now. I should go."

"You can stay. I was fine on the couch."

"Are you sure?"

"Please, lay down." Zemo let her go, and she crawled back under the comforter.

"Thank you. I'm sorry, I'm such a mess."

Chanel felt oddly light like she might start levitating. Her admissions hung in the air, but they didn't suffocate her like usual. She could see the words slowly dissipating into the air, and she found that she was grateful that Zemo had been there. She couldn't have told anyone else.

Zemo squeezed her shoulder, went back to the couch, and turned the light off; his brain was now consumed with a whole new set of thoughts.

"Helmut?"

"Yes, draga?"

"I'm sorry, but would you mind getting me some water?"

"Of course. I'll be right back."

Bucky hurried down the hall back to his room. He was even angrier than he had been earlier, and he didn't bother trying to lay back down. He paced around the room until his phone chimed. He looked down to see a text from Chanel.

U up?

Bucky threw the phone back down on the bed, ignoring her text. Not knowing what else to do, he got in the shower, letting the hot water release tension from his muscles until he felt like he could think clearly again.

So it wasn't that she didn't want to be close to anyone. She just didn't want to be close to me.

It was easier to accept when he told himself he was no good for her; it was more painful to have it thrown in his face by her own hand.

Chanel sighed when Bucky didn't respond to her text. She put the phone down and was asleep before Zemo returned with her water.

Zemo sat the glass of water on the nightstand and watched her sleep. Tears still stained her cheeks, and he had to restrain himself from wiping them off. He was confused and frustrated by his conflicting emotions. Chanel was beautiful, and he didn't blame himself for being attracted to her; that made sense. Yet, he hadn't been able to go through with sleeping with her. Even more confusing than that, after the failed make-out session, he had still wanted her around. He wanted her to like him. He enjoyed talking to her, and a small part of him was thrilled that she had divulged such personal information to him. Not because it was useful information, but because it made him feel special.

Zemo moved back to his couch and rolled his eyes at himself.

Like boarding school all over again. Desperate to be liked by everyone, especially the popular kids.

Weakness.

He pushed the confusing feelings aside and refocused; he had more significant issues to deal with. He still needed to find a way to avoid going back to prison, now without using the most helpful piece of information he had.

He drummed his fingers against his chest as he strategized.

Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to antagonize James to this extent.

He'll be itching to get rid of me as soon as he deems me no longer useful.

Zemo smiled to himself as he remembered the annoyed look on Bucky's face when Chanel had joined him on the dancefloor.

He makes it too easy.

Zemo's thoughts trailed off, now consumed with James. He was curious; that's partly why he pushed his buttons. James was a fascinating man, and had they not been enemies, Zemo thought he would have enjoyed picking his brain. But they were enemies. The other reason why Zemo pushed his buttons was that he needed to prove that James was still the unstable super soldier that Zemo had sought to destroy. He couldn't fathom that someone like that could simply go back to normal life, could just decide one day to be—good.

No, he needed the justification to take him out along with the rest of Karli's army.