AN: I am absolutely in love with this chapter, and I've been so impatient for you all to read it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

Side note: Seb's long hair has me in a chokehold lately so Bucky is growing his hair out in this story, sorry not sorry. This is the length I picture it being now: /tv/falcon-winter-soldier-digital-cover-shoot/

WARNINGS: More mention of suicidal thoughts and themes.

Title song: Do I Wanna Know? Arctic Monkeys

Chapter 13: Nights Were Mainly Made For Saying Things That You Can't Say Tomorrow Day

Zemo led Chanel into a large bedroom that was just as extravagant as the rest of the house. She would have jumped on the big bed immediately if she wasn't dying for a shower. Despite how badly she wanted to, asking him for a drink seemed like a bad idea. No one else had been drinking yet, but it was almost all she could think about.

That's not good.

Maybe I should stop.

How hard could it be? It's already been 24 hours. All I have to do is just keep going.

She was focused on keeping her hands from shaking as Zemo gave her a tour of the bathroom. He had fancy soaps and fluffy towels, and the clawfoot bathtub was calling her name. Zemo noticed her staring at it and dug out a bottle of rose-scented bubble bath.

Chanel thanked him as he started the water in the bathtub.

"I'm going to sleep so hard after this. Don't let anything happen while I'm passed out."

"I promise. Enjoy." Zemo lightly brushed her hand with his before he left the room.

The bath had started off peacefully enough, but then her thoughts started to race.

Sam. He could get hurt.

Bucky. Why was he acting like this? And why did it hurt so much?

Stephan. Where is he? Is he okay?

Bucky. It would be better if he was in here with me.

Vodka would be even better.

Chanel groaned and sank beneath the surface of the warm water. It was peaceful and silent under there. Even her own thoughts seemed to go quiet. Exactly what she needed.

She was still under the water, testing how long she could hold her breath when a thought so small and innocent crept to the front of her mind.

What if you just stopped holding your breath?

What if you just let the water rush into your lungs?

The burn might be enough to exercise some of your demons before your body goes limp.

She let go for just a second, she just wanted a taste, before she sat up and violently gasped in air.

Sam knocked on the door. "Are you okay in there?"

Chanel couldn't answer; her throat was still on fire as she coughed up water. Sam opened the door and took in her face, flushed, eyes burning red. It was fast, but Chanel saw the heartbreak pass over his features before his face softened.

"I'm fine," she coughed out.

"No. No, you're not." Sam couldn't help the crack in his voice as a few tears started to leave his eyes.

"Sam, don't. I swear, I'm good." She couldn't keep up the lie for long, though, not when he was crying because of her. The sight cut straight through all of her defenses.

She climbed out of the tub and wrapped herself in a robe before following him into the bedroom.

"Why won't you talk to me?" He pulled her into his chest, trying to pull himself together.

She needs me to be strong.

"I didn't want to put my shit on your shoulders. Not when you're already dealing with so much."

"That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. You know that I would drop everything for you. I would do anything for you."

"I know," Chanel whispered. "I just wanted to be the one that was there for you for a change."

Sam could hear how tired she sounded, and he sat on the bed, pulling her to his side. "Peanut," the old nickname, almost made Chanel cry. "You're there for me all the time. And you've been amazing the past several days. I think it's been pushing you too much though, you need a break."

"I'm so tired," Chanel hugged him tighter. "I just need one night, and I'll be okay."

"Chanel, please, please tell me the truth. This isn't just something that will go away after one night. You can tell me anything; I won't judge you."

"I don't know," Chanel looked him in the eyes so that he would know she was serious.

"I haven't had any urges like that in a while. There was too much going on in my head. I just, I just needed it all to stop."

Chanel buried her face in Sam's shoulder. She was embarrassed and scared. The gravity of what had happened was finally sinking in. Her mind was betraying her, and she felt like she had no control. It was exhausting.

Sam bit his lip to keep from crying again. "Let me take you home; this isn't healthy for you. Bucky can handle things until I make sure you're safe."

Chanel shot up in a panic. "Wait, no. Please. I'll get it under control. Work is the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart." She grabbed Sam's arm in desperation when he started to argue. "I've been having dreams about Cameron again." She was grasping at anything she could think of to get Sam to change his mind.

"What?"

"It started right after we got to Berlin. I see Nat first, and I'm trying to save her, and I can't. Then it's Cameron, and I'm in that damn car again, trapped and helpless while I watch him die. The guilt is eating me alive."

"Guilt? Neither of those things were your fault, Chanel. You couldn't have done anything. I know that's worse sometimes, but you can't blame yourself."

"I miss her. So much, Sam. It's not fair."

"I know, I know it's not. I miss her too, every day. We have to be strong for her."

Chanel nodded but didn't answer. After a moment, she spoke up again.

"Bucky's mad at me."

"Why?" Sam tried to pretend he didn't already know the answer.

"I think it's because I spent the night with Zemo after Sharon's party. And I didn't exactly help things at the casino."

Sam bit his tongue, knowing she didn't need to be told how hurtful her words had been. "I'll talk to him; you know how moody he can get."

"Thanks, Sam."

Chanel drifted to sleep safe in Sam's arms; when she woke up, it was dark outside. She couldn't remember what time zone she was in or where she was. The travel had affected her more than she had realized.

She stretched, fumbling around for her cell phone, and groaned when she felt how sore her muscles were. The bright glowing screen blinded her temporarily; her eyes finally adjusted, and the screen read 8:00 PM.

Shit. How did I sleep so long?

Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that she had skipped all 3 meals of the day. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and flipped on the light. She looked like she had been through hell. Her hair was a nest, her eyes were bloodshot, and the dark bags under her eyes made her look like a zombie. She was still wearing the robe she had put on after her bath. She was almost too lazy to change but decided to let walking around in robes be Zemo's quirk. She put on her favorite sweats and fixed her appearance as much as possible. Her throat was burning, reminding her of her slip up earlier. She was almost scared to go downstairs, worried that Sam would be waiting to drag her to the airport.

When she reached the bottom step, she discovered that Bucky was the only one downstairs; she froze, debating turning around and going back to her room.

"Hey, doll," he greeted her softly. "How did you sleep?"

Chanel narrowed her eyes and searched the room for Sam or Zemo.

"Where is everyone else?"

"They're getting dinner. They'll be back soon."

They stared at each other silently until Bucky finally cleared his throat. "Um, Zemo made you some tea; he wanted me to let you know. Can I get you anything?"

"I don't know what Sam said to you, but I don't need you walking on eggshells around me," Chanel spat as she made her way to the kitchen. "Don't quit being a dick just because I had a rough day."

Bucky crossed his arms, his tongue running over his teeth as he thought of all the things he wanted to say back to her.

Does she really think she did nothing wrong?

Always the victim.

Always my fault. Typical.

He settled for leaning back on the couch and pretending to be indifferent. "Fine."

"Fine," Chanel repeated, not looking up at him.

She reheated the tea Zemo had left and sat at the kitchen table. After a painfully silent five minutes, Sam and Zemo walked through the door with pizza boxes.

Chanel moaned when the smell hit her nose.

"Happy to see you too," Zemo teased.

"I figured you'd want pizza when you woke up. How are you feeling?" Sam asked as he watched Chanel devour a piece of pizza.

"James, can you please sit at the table? I'd rather not clean grease stains off the couch." Zemo huffed in annoyance when Bucky ignored his request and continued eating his pizza as far away from the group as possible.

"Ignore him; he's extra grumpy today," Chanel told Zemo with an eye roll. "I feel much better, Sam. I didn't realize how much jet lag was affecting me. I slept like a baby."

"Good, you'll feel even better after you eat and drink about a gallon of water." Sam punctuated his sentence by placing a large bottle of water on the table.

Chanel drank it greedily, and Sam replaced it with another, chuckling.

"Yes, better. Can we watch a movie after this?"

"Whatever you want, draga." Zemo joined her at the table after forcing Bucky to at least use a plate.

"Are you seriously about to eat your pizza with a fork and knife?" Chanel snorted.

Zemo was speechless for once, feeling slightly embarrassed. Chanel raised a questioning eyebrow, waiting on his response.

"It's what feels most appropriate." He looked to Sam for validation, but he was eating just as messily as Bucky.

Chanel took the knife and fork away from him. "Sorry Helmut, you have to eat like the rest of us common folk tonight."

Sam joined in with her laughter as they watched Zemo awkwardly pick up a greasy piece of pizza.

"He's right; he needs the fork and knife." Sam wiped the grease off of his face and hands before clearing his throat.

Chanel was worried that the change of topic was not going to be good.

"Before we do anything else, we have to fill you in on what we did today."

Chanel immediately looked at Zemo, who mouthed sorry at her.

"What did you do?"

"Well, Bucky and Zemo went to a displacement camp to try and find out where the memorial for Madani will be held. Unfortunately, no one would talk to them."

"That's not true," all heads turned to Bucky, who was still on the couch. "Zemo knows something, he just won't tell us."

Chanel noticed an awkward glance pass between the three men, and she was annoyed that they had let her sleep so long; she had missed something.

Bucky had watched Zemo speaking to the children in the camp, offering them candy. It would have been creepy if Bucky wasn't thinking about how much Zemo must miss his son.

Zemo's energy around him had been different since they had left the house. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what was different, but Zemo seemed to stand a little closer to him. He kept looking up to see Zemo's gaze fixed on him. It put him on edge; he felt like Zemo was waiting for a moment to strike.

When they got back to the house, Zemo stood in the kitchen and made tea like nothing was amiss, telling Sam they had nothing to report.

After Sam left the room to check on Chanel, Bucky studied Zemo for a bit longer before questioning him.

"That little girl. What did she tell you?"

Zemo froze but quickly composed himself and continued pouring tea. "Nothing. I gave the children some candy. They have so little."

"You're lying. I saw her tell you something. You know the Dora are coming for you. In fact, they're probably lurking outside right now. Tell me what you know." Bucky's voice was already almost a growl.

Zemo got under his skin so easily. That annoying smirk, the way he thought he was smarter than everyone else, the way he carried himself like he was royalty but was endlessly taking care of them, his irritatingly perfect hair….

"And leave you to turn on me once we get to Karli? I prefer to keep my leverage." Zemo sipped on his tea nonchalantly.

Bucky was on his feet in a flash; he wanted to punch him, push him up against the wall and force the information out of him. But he settled for ripping that annoying glass of tea out of his hand and throwing it against the wall as hard as he could. The shattering of glass reverberated around the room as they glared at each other.

"You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?" Bucky's voice was low and gruff, and he took a step toward Zemo as he made his threat.

Zemo didn't move, leaving Bucky almost nose to nose with him. With his head cocked to the side, he studied Bucky's face. He was flushed, breathing hard. Frustration bubbling behind his blue eyes. Had his lips always been so...pouty? Before he could think about it too hard, Zemo grabbed a handful of Bucky's hair and pulled his lips into his own. Bucky froze for a moment, shocked and confused, but then he wrapped his hand lightly around Zemo's neck and kissed him back with an angry huff.

It was a weird sensation. Bucky had been curious, but he had never kissed a man before. Zemo felt…different. But his body was screaming at him that it felt right. His heart was trying to force its way out of his chest. The kiss getting more forceful as Bucky let all his frustrations spill out onto Zemo's tongue.

Zemo could feel it, and he yanked Bucky's hair, encouraging him to give him more, to let it all out.

Bucky did push him against the wall then. He didn't know what to do with his hands; they twitched awkwardly at his side until Zemo took control. Before Bucky realized what was happening, Zemo had flipped the script. Bucky felt the rough brick digging into his back as Zemo guided his hands carefully over the cashmere sweater he wore.

Zemo pulled back slightly and let go of Bucky's hands, letting him continue exploring on his own. "Good," he whispered before attaching his lips to Bucky's neck.

Bucky threw his head back to give him better access.

"Such a good soldier for me," Zemo muttered against his skin.

Bucky's head was spinning. This was wrong. He shouldn't let it continue. He knew it, but he couldn't find it in him to stop. Not when Zemo kept talking to him like that, switching languages the more worked up he got. Not when Zemo's teeth sank into his skin before their lips connected again.

Neither of them came up for air until shattering glass drew their attention and forced them apart.

"What the actual fuck?" Sam stood at the bottom of the stairs, his mouth wide open and his teacup shattered at his feet.

Bucky roughly pushed Zemo away and left the room without saying anything. He was mortified.

What the hell? Why did I do that? Why did I like it?

He couldn't like it. It was Zemo, for fuck's sake. He was a monster. A terrorist. What was wrong with him that he could like it?

Guilt surged through him as his next thought was about Chanel. He felt like a hypocrite. And the more he thought about what he had overheard, the less angry he got. He had been selfish to be mad at her. He should have been focusing on how much pain she was in. He had also realized that Zemo's motivations were very similar to Chanel's. And if he could excuse her actions...it made him empathize with Zemo more than he had thought possible.

Against his will, his brain began replaying all the times Zemo had been helpful or simply kind. Sure, he was a pain in the ass and clearly enjoyed pushing his buttons. But he distinctly remembered the look of disgust on Zemo's face when Sharon had called him Zemo's pet psychopath. Chanel wasn't the only one bothered by it.

Chanel.

He had been a dick. He needed to apologize, especially after Sam had told him about her breakdown. He got the sense that Sam hadn't told him everything. He seemed too shaken.

He just didn't know how to shove his hurt feelings out of the way enough to apologize. He couldn't very well tell her why he had been mad. Which meant she couldn't apologize. So, he needed to get over it. But every time he remembered hearing her cry in Zemo's arms, he felt unwanted. Undesired. Alone.

Maybe they were better off this way.

Chanel turned to Zemo and raised her eyebrows in question.

He simply shrugged his shoulders.

"Anyway, we've got to figure out another way to find out where the memorial will be, or we're stuck," Sam continued, still giving Bucky a look.

Zemo got up from the table to wash his hands and then unceremoniously headed toward his bedroom.

"You should have waited until I was with you," Chanel huffed and followed Zemo out of the room.

"Your promises don't mean much," Chanel stopped Zemo from closing his door.

"You know how stubborn they are. I tried. Plus, if it makes you feel any better, Sam stayed here to keep an eye on you."

"No, it doesn't. Now tell me what happened."

"What do you mean?"

"The look that just passed between you guys, what did I miss?"

Zemo smirked faintly but walked away from her, heading into the bathroom. Chanel followed on his heels.

Zemo tried to block her entry, but she squeezed past him.

"I'm trying to get ready for bed, draga. I thought you were going to watch a movie with Sam."

Chanel leaned against the bathroom counter with her arms crossed, missing the annoyance in Zemo's eyes. "I'm not leaving until you tell me."

Zemo shrugged and started undressing. Chanel quickly looked away.

"You're such a pain, you know that?"

Zemo tsked disapprovingly. "And you're not? I thought your nap would have put you in a better mood."

The dig made Chanel instinctively whip her head in his direction. Her snarky comment died on her tongue as her eyes racked down his body. Not so subtly following his happy trail down to the waistband of his black boxers.

No.

This isn't happening again.

Chanel refocused and ignored the pleased smile on his lips. "Listen, I don't like Sam's plan. He's going to get himself killed." She tried her best to look distraught.

Zemo bought it, his face softening as he got dressed.

"He's so desperate to be the good guy that he can't see she's not saveable."

"So, you do know how stubborn he is." Zemo, now fully dressed, stood in front of her, looking down on her shaking frame.

"Don't you think it would be a better idea if you and I took care of it ourselves? Without them knowing? We're not burdened by the same morals he is." Chanel looked up at him from under her lashes, trying to ignore the intoxicating scent of his cologne.

Zemo thought about it for a minute and studied the shine of tears in her eyes. "Yes, I do think that would be the best course of action."

"Do you already have a plan, or are you open to suggestions?"

"The memorial is in 2 days, at the same camp we visited today. Karli and the others will definitely be there. That only gives us one day to prepare, but I think between the two of us, we can come up with something."

"Thank you, Helmut." She sat up and smiled at him before kissing his cheek. "Now, you know I have to tell them, right?"

Zemo's face dropped as he realized he'd been played. His jaw twitched as he glared at her, caging her in with his hands on the marble sink. "That wasn't fair."

Chanel rolled her eyes, "By my count, that's Chanel - 2, Zemo - 1." She giggled at the annoyed look on his face as she maneuvered out of his grasp. She stuck her tongue out at him as she left the bathroom.

"You're keeping count?" He stomped after her, her flippant attitude annoying him even more.

"You aren't?" Chanel smirked over her shoulder as she shut his bedroom door and went back to the living room.

"The memorial is in 2 days."

"How do you—?" Bucky started.

"Zemo told me." She sat down on the furthest end of the couch from Bucky and looked at Sam. "Are we going to watch a movie now?"

Sam laughed and shook his head. "Sure. And next time, we won't do anything without you."

Sam was passed out on the couch. Bucky had left the room as soon as Zemo had joined them for the movie. Chanel didn't give much thought to his jumpiness when Zemo had sat down next to him, but the look on Sam's face made her curious. She was going to have to find out what that was about later.

The credits for the movie had stopped several minutes prior, and Chanel and Zemo both sat in the dark on the couch, absentmindedly scrolling through their phones.

"Where did you go when you ditched me in Monaco?" Chanel asked, her eyes still trained on her phone.

Zemo looked up briefly. "I was wondering when you would ask. I had lunch with a friend."

Chanel looked at him then and raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "A friend?"

"Yes, I have friends."

Chanel hummed and went back to looking at her phone. "Was it a productive lunch?"

"Immensely."

Zemo offered no more information, and they fell back into silence.

Suddenly Chanel sat up. "Oh shit."

"What is it, draga?" Zemo asked, concerned.

"Look at this," Chanel held her phone out for Zemo to see.

She showed him the Twitter account of John Walker, the new Captain America.

"What about it?"

"Look at the location on his last tweet."

The tweet was a picture of him and Lemar Hoskins. The location, Riga, Latvia.

"I can't believe the dumbass has his location turned on."

"This could be a complication."

Chanel nodded and continued digging through Walker's social media. She even made a Snapchat account and quickly got a follow back from him after only one suggestive picture. His story contained various videos and photos of him and Lemar around the city. He even had his location on, leading Chanel right to him.

She didn't really have a good reason to go; other than that, she just wanted to. She pretended that she was going to sleep and waited until Zemo left the living room.

Then she packed her backpack and changed into her black jeans and long sleeve shirt. She pulled her hoodie on and silently left the house. On the walk to Walker's, she started to notice faint footsteps behind her. She made a quick turn and laid in wait for the stalker. She almost sliced through Zemo's neck with her blade before she realized it was him.

"What the fuck are you doing following me?" She slapped his arm and put her knife away.

"That is the second time you've almost killed me."

Chanel kept walking. "That is your own fault."

"Where are you going?"

"To spy on Walker. If you're coming, then shut up."

Zemo zipped his lips closed and fell into step next to her.

They climbed to the roof of an adjacent building and watched Walker and Hoskins through the large windows of their apartment. Chanel swatted Zemo's hand away when he reached for her binoculars.

"Can I at least use the earpiece?"

"No, be quiet. I thought you were on a kill squad; why are you so fidgety?"

Zemo huffed and sat back down. "This coming from the spy who thinks everything is a joke."

"Excuse me?"

"You don't take anything seriously. You do realize what's at stake here? What will happen if we don't get that serum?"

"I'm perfectly aware, thank you very much. You're the one spending your days doing everything in your power to give Bucky an aneurysm. Some focus. I don't know if you're more jealous of him or me."

Zemo ripped the binoculars out of her hands, pressing a finger to her lips when she started to yell at him. "Just be quiet, please."

Chanel's voice was caught in her throat as she stared at him. He hadn't been this pissed off since she had killed Selby.

"I was joking," she whispered, her lips moving gently against the leather glove still pressed to her lips.

"Shh." Zemo pressed his finger harder against her lips.

She swallowed hard and continued to stare at him until he nodded and backed off.

"Good girl, you can follow orders."

Chanel gawked at him as he sat down with her binoculars and began making comments about what Walker and Hoskins were doing as if nothing had happened.

Asshole.

Dick.

Jerk…face.

Chanel continued to silently hurl insults in Zemo's direction, a poor attempt at ignoring her arousal.

They sat in silence for an hour; there was not much to see or hear. Walker paced around talking to himself when Hoskins wasn't around. Zemo thought he looked twitchy. When he started posing for himself in the mirror, Zemo sighed and rubbed his temples.

He handed the binoculars back to Chanel, and she had the same reaction.

Zemo couldn't be quiet any longer. "What's the trouble between you and James?" He asked, trying to sound nonchalant as if such private matters were things they often discussed.

Of course, he had noticed their icy stares; he would have to be blind not to. "You've both been in terribly irritating moods, don't try and deny it."

Chanel tried to ignore him, but he was persistent, egging her on by making wild guesses about the problem. When he asked if she was pregnant, she finally looked at him.

"Jesus, you're annoying tonight," she snapped. "I don't know what his problem is. We were fine, and then today he told me I only wanted him because he was the Winter Soldier."

Zemo hummed thoughtfully. "Have you considered that maybe you haven't been as sensitive as you could have been to his—situation? How much do you actually know about James and his past?"

Chanel laughed dryly. "Are you—Helmut Zemo—seriously about to lecture me on Bucky's trauma? That's rich."

Zemo rocked his jaw back and forth. The more Chanel started grated on his nerves, the more he found himself aligned with James.

"You didn't see his face when we overheard you and Stephan in the casino. And nothing I did to him was personal. He understands that. I wish I didn't have to do it, but what's done is done."

"You say that like he's forgiven you. He hasn't."

Chanel purposefully ignored the comment about what she had said to Stephan. She knew she was in the wrong for that; she didn't need Zemo pointing it out.

Zemo looked pained for a moment before whispering, "I don't seek his forgiveness."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Chanel finally took the bait. "What do you know about him that I don't?"

"James is very much at war with himself. Hydra controlled his mind, but he was still always there, just under the surface. Who knows how many times they had to torture him back into submission."

"Torture?"

Chanel had never been sure how the mind control actually worked; she had assumed he was under their control the whole time.

Zemo cocked his head, surprised at how little she really knew. "When his memories would start to resurface, they wiped them. I saw the diagrams and notes on the process. Electroconvulsive shock therapy. Painful."

"For 70 years?" Chanel's throat was tight.

"Off and on."

"Maybe you should be seeking forgiveness."

They both sat quietly then until an hour later when Walker turned the lights off.

"Nothing else to see tonight. I'm heading back." Chanel stood up and stretched.

"May I make a suggestion? The train will be faster and safer."

Chanel nodded and followed Zemo to the closest train station.

Chanel couldn't get the image of Bucky, strapped to a chair, being tortured over and over again out of her head. How had she not known that? What else didn't she know?

She settled into a seat across from Zemo on the train and typed Bucky's name into Google. The entire train ride, she read articles and watched videos about the Winter Soldier. She found a cell phone video of part of the fight between him and Steve back in 2014. The video wasn't the best quality, but she had enough military training to see how precise and animalistic his movements were. This was a completely different person; it made her feel sick. She found a better quality video, and tears sprang to her eyes when she saw how he was dressed. The weird buckled jacket, the mask, he looked like a caged animal.

The tears weren't just from sadness; she felt guilty, and more than anything, now she was pissed off. She felt the need to hit someone, but there was no one responsible around. They were all dead, or were they?.

Zemo watched her closely. He saw every emotion that passed over her face. His own guilt started to resurface. He had been so lost in sorrow and anger when he had gone after the Avengers that he never gave a second thought to using James. In hindsight, he remembered how frightened James had looked when he had begun reciting those dreaded words. He was afraid of what he would do, of what Zemo would make him do. Powerless. If that was the case, then had the serum really corrupted him?

Maybe Chanel had a point. But the past was the past; he couldn't change it.

Zemo and Chanel quietly entered the house to not disturb Sam and Bucky.

"Drink?" Chanel asked wearily.

Zemo shook his head no with a slight smile. "Draga?"

"Yes?"

Zemo shuffled around awkwardly, not sure how to say what he wanted to. He cleared his throat and stared at the floor. "You're a good spy."

"I know," Chanel smirked.

Zemo nodded with a smile. "Goodnight, draga."

"Goodnight," Chanel called over her shoulder as she poured a tall glass of vodka.

So much for not drinking.

She stood alone in the dark kitchen, the moonlight glinting off the glass in her hand. After drinking half of it, she pulled her compact out of her bag and opened it, a green light flashing over her eye.

A familiar bored voice sounded through the speaker in the compact. "Well, well, well. Where the hell have you been? We've been calling you."

"I've missed you too, Q."

"You know I don't like when you call me that. Those movies are an embarrassment to our profession."

Chanel rolled her eyes. "Listen, I didn't call for a chat. I need a favor."

"I'm listening."

"I need you to gather any intelligence on the Winter Soldier program and anyone who was connected to it. I don't care if they were just in charge of sterilizing the equipment; I want every name. I want addresses. ASAP."

"You know most of those people are already dead. What is this about?"

"Give me the ones that fell through the cracks," Chanel demanded through gritted teeth.

"I don't know. This doesn't have anything to do with the missions we've been trying to send you."

"Listen, Davis," Chanel rarely used his actual last name and knew it would win her points with him. "I need you to be my friend here; this is personal."

"Fine. I'll send you whatever I can get my hands on."

"It goes without saying that you should keep this to yourself."

"Why do you constantly insist on getting into trouble?"

With that, the light faded, and Chanel snapped the compact closed. Time passed slowly as she drank and impatiently stared at her email. Finally, a ping on her phone bolted her up, and she opened the new email from Davis. He warned that it wasn't much, but he had sent everything he could find.

She scrolled through the documents; he had found a few names, he wasn't sure if they were still alive or not, but he gave potential addresses and aliases. They were all connected to the program in the 90s and early 2000s. Chanel was confident they had been directly involved in handling Bucky and confident they were still alive.

One name caught her attention because the first possible address listed was in Saint Petersburg. She checked her watch; it was only 1:00 AM. If she called Davis back now, he could probably get her on a flight first thing in the morning. Even better, if she left now and stole a car, she could be there by morning.

As she slung her backpack over her shoulder and prepared to leave, she was stopped in her tracks by a muffled yell coming from Bucky's room. She looked towards the front door, wanting to continue on her mission, but another heartbreaking cry found her ears. She slowly pushed his door open.

"Bucky?" She whispered.

He didn't reply; he was on the floor, half covered by the blanket that should have been on the bed. He was still asleep, mumbling. Chanel couldn't make out what he was saying, but as she slowly approached him, she could make out the words, 'stop' and 'please.'

She called his name again, a little louder this time.

He stirred but didn't wake, her voice integrating itself into his nightmare. "I don't want to." Bucky's voice sounded desperate, and Chanel couldn't stand it anymore.

She knelt over him, dropping her bag to the floor. She shook his shoulders and called his name at full volume. Her voice was silenced when suddenly he shot up, and his vibranium hand closed tightly around her throat. Her instinct was to fight, but she didn't want to hurt him. His eyes were dark and glassy; he wasn't fully awake.

"Buck—" She choked out. "It's just me. It's Chanel." She put her hand on his arm in a calming gesture.

She couldn't help but start to struggle when he still didn't let go. She couldn't speak anymore as she tried to breathe. Finally, she saw something flicker in his eyes, and he was awake. Panic filled his eyes as he released her, and she collapsed to the floor, drawing in deep breaths.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" His hands reached out to her, but he drew back when he saw the tiny flicker of fear that she couldn't hide. "I'm so sorry." Panic was quickly replaced with dread in his veins as his stomach sank.

Chanel finally caught her breath and sat up, "I'm fine, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have woken you up like that. My bad."

Bucky flinched away from her when she tried to touch his face.

"It's not your fault. You were having a nightmare. I swear I'm fine." Bucky still wasn't looking at her. "Remember, I like being choked anyways." Her attempt to lighten the mood fell flat.

"This isn't funny. I could have killed you." He finally looked at her, "I'm sorry," he whispered, shame clearly evident in his voice.

He got up and shut himself in the bathroom. He couldn't look at her anymore. Self-disgust and hatred were dragging him down, and he found himself on the bathroom floor, barely able to breathe.

Chanel repeatedly knocked on the bathroom door. Promising she was fine and begging him to let her in.

"I will stay out here all night. You can't stay in there forever."

Bucky didn't respond. The silence made her panicky, so she finally just picked the lock and entered the bathroom.

The sight of Bucky sitting on the floor against the bathtub, his big arms wrapped around his knees, his eyes rimmed red, made her heart break. The look in his eyes was worse. She could tell he was far away, a place she had been many times as she lost herself in her destructive thoughts. He didn't even look up when she sank to her knees at his side. She knew now not to touch him, instead calling to him in a soothing voice until he looked at her.

She should have turned the light off; when he saw the bruises that were already forming on her neck...he had never hated himself more. Chanel could see it in his eyes.

She gently lifted his face to look at hers. "Come back to me, Buck. It's okay. It wasn't your fault."

"I knew this would happen. I knew I should have stayed away from you. I'm sorry."

His voice was barely audible, but the pain behind the words was deafening.

"I'm not going to entertain that with a response."

She noticed then that his hand was bleeding. She looked around the bathroom and saw that he had broken something glass on the vanity. She picked his hand up gingerly.

"You're bleeding."

"It'll heal by morning. You should go."

Chanel ignored him and got up to dig through the vanity drawers until she found a first aid kit. She sat back down next to him and demanded his hand.

"Don't be stubborn. You're bleeding all over the floor."

He relented and let her clean his wound, wincing when she pulled tiny pieces of glass out of the cuts. "Thank you," he whispered.

She looked up at him for a second and gave him a half-smile before returning her attention to his hand. "Do you want to talk about the dream? You sounded like you were in pain. That's why I came in here to wake you up."

He didn't, but he felt like he owed her an explanation. The tender way her hands bandaged his cut made him feel all the more guilty. "I don't remember anything but the feeling. Feeling pain, anger—scared." He whispered the last part like he was embarrassed to admit it. "Chanel, I'm so sor—"

Chanel cut off his apology, shushing him and smoothing his hair down soothingly until he gave in and let her hold him. The intimacy was almost overwhelming as he realized that he couldn't even remember the last time that someone had touched him in that way.

Chanel could feel that he needed this more than he would ever admit. She interlaced her fingers with his vibranium ones, showing him that she wasn't scared of him, that she wasn't mad at him. She just wanted to make him feel better.

Seeing him like this, knowing his past still haunted him, coupled with the knowledge she had gained earlier in the evening, stirred her own guilt.

"Bucky," she paused until he sat up to look at her. "I owe you an apology. I had no idea—the things you went through. I never read up on you or anything, I knew the basic story, but that's it. I looked tonight at all of it; Zemo filled me in on some details as well." Bucky started to interrupt, and she held up her hand to stop him. "It's not an excuse, but if I had known, I wouldn't have teased you as much. I feel like an ass. And I'm really sorry that I made you feel like I only wanted to sleep with you because of—who you are. That couldn't be further from the truth. I wasn't thinking straight when I said those things to Stephan. I wanted to hurt him. Not you. I'm really sorry."

Bucky looked at his hands; he knew he should come clean and tell her why he had really been mad at her.

But what if she leaves?

She'll hate me. It's what I deserve.

He looked up at her again; there was a concern behind her stare that he hadn't seen before. He couldn't do it.

I just need to give her more time to tell me herself.

Selfish.

"Bucky?" Chanel was beginning to think he wouldn't forgive her, and fear started to clench her heart.

"Thanks, doll, but you were right; I wasn't really mad at you because of that. I was jealous."

It wasn't a complete lie.

"I'm sorry I was such a dick. The things I said to you—I didn't mean any of it. I was stupid." He bowed his head, hands running through his hair. "I'm just so fucking tired. I can't think straight."

"Oh, Bucky, nothing even happened with Zemo. I mean, we did make out a bit, but we were drunk; it was nothing. It won't happen again."

Bucky smirked; his own kiss with Zemo made him feel less jealous of their physical relationship. But the smile dropped from his face quickly; he still didn't understand why he had enjoyed it as much as he did.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Yoshe. You said she was an ex... how did that work?"

Chanel furrowed her eyebrows; the topic was out of left field.

"Are you asking if I'm bi?"

"Um yeah, I guess," Bucky stammered.

Chanel chuckled, "Yes, I am. As for how it worked, how much detail do you want?"

"That's not what I meant." Bucky quickly pushed the images of her with the pretty woman out of his mind. Now wasn't the time.

"Why are you asking then?"

Bucky didn't answer; now that he had breached the subject, he felt stupid. He didn't know himself or what he was feeling; how could he talk about it?

Chanel guessed at what he was thinking; she had her assumptions. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here. But for now, will you let me help you feel better? As a friend?"

Bucky nodded appreciatively and thanked God that she didn't push the subject further.

Chanel stood up and rummaged through the bathroom cabinets until she found what she was looking for. Bucky raised a questioning eyebrow.

"It's lavender. It will help you sleep." Chanel turned the faucet on and poured the lavender soap into the bathtub. The fresh scent calmed both of them almost immediately as the bubbles rose in the tub.

"Come on, in you go."

Bucky did feel relaxed as he sank into the warm water, the lavender filling his lungs with every breath he took. He let his eyes slip closed, trying to calm his mind.

Chanel sat on the edge of the bathtub and watched him for a moment. "You're missing something. I'll be right back."

She quickly returned with a glass of scotch for him and her vodka glass. "I know it doesn't do much for you." Chanel gave an apologetic shrug.

"I think you may be my best friend now," Bucky teased as he sipped on the liquor, relaxing even more.

"Don't let Sam hear you say that," Chanel laughed as she sat on the bathroom counter. She studied Bucky for a moment, still thinking of ways to soothe her guilt. She swallowed thickly before clearing her throat.

"I want to tell you something."

"I'm listening."

Bucky still had his eyes closed, and she was thankful for that.

"That night when I freaked out on you in the bathroom…."

Bucky lifted his head and looked at her with confusion. "Yeah, I remember. What about it?"

Chanel took a deep breath and another swig of her drink before continuing. "You reminded me of someone I used to know. His name was Cameron."

Bucky sat up straighter in anticipation.

"He was my high school sweetheart, as Sam would say. I was head over heels in love with him. I thought one day we would get married, have a cute little house in the suburbs, I even wanted to have kids with him," Chanel smiled sadly and shook her head, "dreams of a child. Anyway, he died when we were 18. I've been blaming myself this whole time, and I've been having dreams about him. I think they were triggered by the dreams I'm having about Nat. I can't save either of them, and I always wake up when I fail, and they die in front of me."

Bucky didn't know what to say; he felt useless in the bath and started to get out.

"Don't. Don't get up." Chanel sat her drink on the counter and knelt down by the bathtub, letting Bucky hold her hand.

"You don't need to say anything. I just wanted you to know why. You triggered a memory, and I couldn't handle it."

"You didn't owe me an explanation, but I appreciate it. I'm so sorry, doll. Tell me what I did so I can avoid it in the future. I don't want to hurt you."

Chanel smiled softly and rubbed her thumb over his hand. "You were being too nice. Too caring. Too understanding. You couldn't change those parts of yourself if you tried. And I wouldn't want you to."

"I'm sorry I was pushing you before. I can understand why you're hesitant to get close to anyone. I mean, I should have recognized it; I've been going through the same thing. I promise I won't let it happen again." Bucky smiled when she nodded her head in appreciation. He leaned forward so he could kiss her forehead.

"Hey, you're getting me wet." Chanel pushed him back with a small smile.

"That's what she said," Bucky teased.

Chanel snorted. "How do you know that?"

"Shuri made me watch every season of The Office."

"You're so interesting," Chanel giggled. "Thank you for not making this a whole thing, by the way. I was worried you would get all emotional on me and make me regret telling you." Chanel stood up and sat on the edge of the tub behind his head. "Do you mind?" She asked, holding up the bottle of soap.

Bucky rolled his eyes but shook his head no and sighed contently when she started washing his hair.

"Your hair looks good long," Chanel whispered as she ran her fingers through his chestnut locks.

His hair had started to grow while they were away, and he hadn't made time to cut it. If she liked it, he probably wouldn't.

They sat in silence while she gently scratched his scalp. The feeling almost made him cry again.

"I don't deserve this." The thought slipped out, just barely audible. The guilt resurfaced as he looked up at her.

Chanel frowned. "I can see in your eyes that you don't believe it, but you're a good man, James. Maybe one of the best I've ever known."

She rinsed the soap out of his hair and laid a towel over her leg so he could lay his head on her lap.

Bucky could hear the sincerity in her voice, but the words didn't feel real to him; he had to be dreaming. He didn't speak; he just let her comfort him. She was silent, too, as her hands rubbed his shoulders. Her fingers began trailing over the scars on his left shoulder. When she paused and didn't move for a minute, Bucky peeked up at her. The look on her face was no longer peaceful. He could see a fire smoldering behind her eyes as she stared off into space, a pronounced frown bordering on a snarl on her lips.

"What's wrong? Did I do something?"

Bucky's voice brought her back to the present. She tried to smile but couldn't. The anger she had felt earlier in the evening was back and too strong.

"Come on, the water is getting cold." Chanel stood up and handed Bucky a towel.

As he got out of the bath, she paced around the bathroom and told him what was on her mind.

"You didn't do anything. I'm pissed off because of what happened to you. I can't believe I didn't know, and now that I do—"

Bucky grabbed her shoulders to stop her pacing; his thumb brushed over her cheekbone. "Hey, it's okay; I'm fine now."

The fire in her eyes had only gotten wilder, and Bucky started to worry he wouldn't be able to smother it.

"No, it's not okay! I mean, I know I'm several years late, but—" Chanel took a deep breath to calm her voice, "—I called my government liaison. He found some people that were involved with the program that may still be alive. Oh, now you can come with me."

"What are you talking about? Go with you where?"

"I'm going to find them," Chanel said as if it should have been obvious. "The first address on the list is in St. Petersburg. We can be there by morning."

"Slow down," Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. "Go there to do what exactly?"

"What do you think?" Chanel scoffed. "It's what they deserve."

"You can't do that. It's over. I'm free. I'm getting better," Bucky pleaded with her.

"But someone has to pay. All of them do."

Bucky shook his head and pulled her into his chest. "That's not for you to decide, doll. But I appreciate the sentiment. Promise me you're going to drop this."

Chanel took a deep breath, inhaling his scent mixed with the lavender, and started to calm down. "You never went after any of them?"

"Never."

"Why?" Chanel pulled back to study his face.

Bucky shrugged, "They stole so much of my life. I wasn't going to let them control me anymore. Not even through my hatred."

Chanel slumped back into his chest. "If it's what you want, then I promise to drop it."

"Thank you." Bucky rubbed circles on her back, the thank you referring to her promise and to her desire to avenge for him.

"Let's get you dried off so you can go back to sleep. It's late."

Bucky got dressed while Chanel sat on the bathroom counter, going through his stuff.

"Is this castor oil?" She asked, surprised and amused.

"Yeah, why is that funny?" He pulled his t-shirt over his head and approached her on the counter, reaching for the bottle.

Chanel moved out of his reach, still chuckling. "I just expected Axe or maybe Old Spice," she teased.

"I can tell you're making fun of me, but the joke is on you because I don't get it. T'Challa gave it to me while I was in Wakanda, and I liked it, so I kept using it." Bucky shrugged and held his hand out for the bottle.

"Oh, okay, White Wolf, I see you." Chanel shooed his hand away and poured the oil in her own before running it through his hair. "I was wondering how your hair always looked so nice. So, are you going to tell me about Wakanda now that you're not mad at me?"

"What do you want to know, doll?"

"Anything you want to tell me. Starting with Ayo, she was intimidating as hell. But she helped with your healing…?" Bucky nodded, and Chanel continued, "were you like...together?"

Bucky snorted, surprised by the question. "I thought you didn't get jealous?"

"I'm not! It's a reasonable question."

"No, and Ayo would probably laugh her ass off if she could hear you."

Chanel smiled, secretly pleased with his answer. She let Bucky blow-dry his hair before drilling him with more questions. She was fascinated by everything he told her. She liked how he talked about the place and the people with so much reverence. She had never found him more adorable than she did when he went on tangents about the technology.

"Maybe, if Ayo forgives me, I can take you one day. You would love it. And Ayo would love you."

"I'd like that." Chanel kissed his cheek, and they sat on the bed in silence for a few minutes.

Chanel imagined some distant day in the future, Bucky leading her through the streets of Wakanda, introducing her to the friends he had made there. She looked happy in her daydream until a nagging darkness brought it all crashing down.

She glanced at Bucky, the moonlight caressing his face, making him look so gentle.

"Bucky," Chanel whispered, "can I ask you about something else?"

"Of course, doll."

"Would you still like me if I had done horrible things?"

Bucky's stomach tightened. He wanted so badly to comfort her, to tell her that he understood, that he would never think less of her.

Is she going to tell me?

"I can't exactly judge."

Chanel looked over at him with sadness in her eyes.

"Everything that you did, that wasn't you. They had to force you to do it. The things that I've done…that was all me. No one had to force me to do anything."

Bucky hummed in displeasure. He sat up and pulled his notebook out of his bag. "Do you still want to know what's in this?"

Chanel gave him a confused look.

"It's a list of names. People that I helped get into power when I was the Winter Soldier. There are also names of people who I hurt in some way. But, I've been focusing on the bad ones. My therapist has these rules. I'm not supposed to do anything illegal; I'm not supposed to hurt anyone. Thanks for the signal jammer at the bar, by the way. I haven't really been following the rules. So I guess, in a way, I lied earlier. I have been going after people, just not the ones you were talking about. I haven't killed anyone, but a few people have definitely gotten hurt. And I've definitely done things that are illegal."

Chanel didn't say anything, intent on listening to every word he said.

"If you did bad things, I'm sure it was for a reason. I can see that you're in pain. I understand that, probably more than anyone. I can tell you, though, I've worked through a lot of this list, and I don't feel any better. Do you?"

"Not in the slightest." Chanel looked up at him in earnest. "I want to be better. How do you control it? Your instincts? In the bar…. you're holding yourself back."

"I'm not going for the kill shots anymore."

"But, how? When I'm triggered, it's like I blackout and just let my training take over. Like with Selby, I don't remember making a conscious decision to…. you know," Chanel mimicked, cutting her neck. "But the next thing I knew, I was covered in her blood. I don't think I could have stopped myself."

"It's not easy. I struggled for a while. I don't want my hands to be responsible for another life taken. I don't care whose life it is. You're fiercely protective, and I love that about you. But if you want to change, you have to control your skills, use them for something good."

Chanel wrapped him in a hug, she was beginning to think that he would understand, but she didn't want to tell him everything yet. She hadn't even told Sam, and she was scared. For now, she just wanted to focus on this feeling of friendship between her and Bucky, and she wanted to try and be better for him.

Bucky gave up on her telling him anything further. He sighed and kissed her nose before noticing her still staring at the notebook he had left on the bed. "You can look, doll."

"Are you sure?" Chanel's eyes were wide.

Bucky nodded, and Chanel picked the book up, flipping through the pages Steve had written. She smirked when she saw Trouble Man on the list. She continued flipping through until she got to Bucky's lists. She frowned when she saw Zemo's name.

"Why is Zemo's name on here?"

"I know you like him, but I've spent a long time hating him for what he did to me. What he did to the Wakandans, to Steve, Tony."

"I get that." Chanel was quiet for a moment, debating if she should say more. "Don't hate me, but don't you think he—"

"Don't. There's no excuse for what he did." Bucky was trying to convince himself of that more than he was trying to convince Chanel.

"His motives were—understandable. I just—I know what he was feeling. How he's still feeling."

Bucky didn't have a response for that, she didn't know it, but he could see how similar their motives had been. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about Zemo's son since seeing him interact with the children at the displacement camp. Would he have done the same at some point? He could only imagine the pain, but he was sure that it would drive anyone to insanity. He still didn't want to admit it, though, and gave Chanel a displeased look.

Chanel took the hint to change the subject. "Who is Nakajima?"

Bucky sighed, "he's my neighbor, actually. We've kind of become friends. I killed his son on a mission. He was just an innocent bystander, but I couldn't leave any witnesses. So far, I've been too much of a coward to tell him."

Chanel snapped the book closed; this was not calming him down. "I'm sorry." She reached out for him, and he took her hand. "You're not a coward. You'll get there eventually."

Bucky nodded his head, not believing her but agreeing anyway.

"I think you should try and get some sleep. I've kept you up for far too long."

"Will you stay? Just for a few minutes?"

"Sure, Buck. Just let me put my hair up."

Bucky watched her curiously as she braided her hair and twisted it on top of her head. She dug through her bag until she found a silk scarf and tied it around her edges.

"Do you always sleep with your hair like that?" Bucky asked.

"Pretty much, otherwise it's a pain to deal with in the morning."

She could tell Bucky wanted to ask more questions, but she made him refocus on going to sleep.

He started to grab the pillow and blanket off of the floor, and she stopped him. "We can lay there if that's what you prefer. I've been there and done that."

"Thanks, doll." He laid back on the floor, and she joined, laying her head on his chest.

With her warmth against his side and her scent filling his senses, he fell asleep quickly. Chanel eventually followed, deciding to stay.