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The first time, Zemo thought James came to his prison to check if he was making a new breakout plan. The second time, he thought James intended to find out Zemo’s secret. But he didn’t ask questions to avoid any assumptions. The third time, James asked if Helmut wanted to play something with him, and his question was met with Zemo’s bewilderment.
Zemo was peering into James’ face, but he didn’t meet his eyes deliberately.
“You’re looking like a poker person,” he smirked, not expecting to get a reaction or an answer. And so it happened. No expressions crossed Barnes’ face.
They spent hours playing chess, focused on the board, and were barely talking to each other. Zemo asked about the weather and how James and Sam were doing and got dry answers. Of course, such information wouldn’t be shared with him – he didn’t hope for a heartfelt conversation. They have never been friends and unlikely will be. But Zemo, dying from his itching curiosity, wanted to know why James was coming to him, so he tried to get him to talk about ordinary topics, win him over, and inspire confidence.
He admitted to himself: those meetings, which diversified his routine, he began waiting for them eagerly. They didn’t have a schedule or an arrangement; James just came, and Zemo didn’t even ask why he visited him; he just unfolded the board and set up the pieces readily.
Zemo always loved playing chess; he liked to think over the next moves, to predict the opponent’s choice, in a brief period to create in his mind several variants of moves, one of which James always followed. And Zemo won every time. He smartly sacrificed a pawn and even a queen; he subtly manipulated the opponent, got him to make a wrong move. Bucky fell for that like a child every time: he didn’t have any other option but to take a chess piece and lose one of his stronger ones. Sometimes he even noticed it beforehand – his fingers hovered over the board for a few seconds, and then he made a move with a sigh, realizing he didn’t have another choice.
Except for the choice of remaining silent. But Zemo couldn’t keep his mouth shut; the chess took his breath away, provoking the excitement.
“You’re just suicidal,” Zemo grinned, clapping his hands, and took a piece away from the board.
James responded with a bitter lopsided smile. And at that moment, Zemo remembered the only suicidal, unsuccessful one, was himself. He wondered if James had ever considered killing himself, putting a bullet in his head instead of atoning for his sins. That was an easier way indeed. But he chose the hard way without friendly support, without motivation and persuasions. No guarantee of peace and calm at the end, a long and thorny path of clearing his conscience. Zemo doubted the steely-eyed sullen man had at least a couple of friends in the new century. He had one best friend from the past, Steve Rogers. But now, he didn’t have anyone.
Zemo frowned and tilted his head, studying James. He didn’t come here to make friends with Zemo, not at all. But they had something in common. The Winter Soldier lost his family. So did Helmut Zemo.
When James, standing at a memorial in Sokovia, raised the gun, Zemo nodded, ready to die. He completed his mission – he smashed vials of the serum and shot the man who could recreate it. He didn’t know what else was worth living. Maybe, just living, despite everything. And so did Bucky.
“Your turn,” James broke the silence so suddenly making the other man flinch. He looked down at the board and moved the knight without hesitation. That was the thing, he did that without thinking. An uncharacteristically satisfied grin crossed James’ face for a moment. He grabbed the bishop and announced, “Checkmate.”
Zemo looked at the board in confusion for a few seconds; he couldn’t get how it could happen. He had an intention to win; he counted on it. Zemo’s face lit up with a smile, and he stretched out his hand to James to congratulate on his victory. He thought if he had won again, James would change his mind about coming back to him.
But there’s no joy in James’ eyes. He just nodded, satisfied. Where was that triumph which sparkled in James’ eyes when he overcame a killing machine inside him? Zemo couldn’t have known.
He could only watch the man moving towards the exit and thanked him for playing.
“Would you give me the pleasure of the rematch?” he asked with hope.
And James, of course, came back in three weeks. Zemo set up the pieces on board, already thinking over his first move. Because he lost the previous game, he was about to choose the white ones to play.
But James was in no hurry to move closer to the board, so he said in a low voice, “Read out the code.”
Zemo went still, but didn’t ask “why?”. They both knew the code was not working. Last time, they met and Zemo fled; he read out the code without a warning; because he wanted to see how James would react to the old words. He said something from the Winter Soldier was still in there.
James broke his silent defense and looked up just for a second, and Zemo saw there was no the Soldier’s coldness in his eyes. There was pain. Despair.
“Желание.”
James closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
“Ржавый,” Zemo pronounced more confidently, still looking at him. He remembered James’ reaction: his lips shivering, him begging to stop the torture. His rage when he tried to knock out the door. Remembered the metal arm squeezing and he was going to choke the other man reading the code. Even despite the fact, it would make him a conscious killer.
James got to his feet, and Zemo thought for a moment he was going to do it now. Finish the job. And, to his horror, Helmut didn’t mind. But James sat next to him on the bed, leaving him the opportunity to look only at his profile.
“Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь,” Zemo continued. Clearly, the code was not working: it was not reflecting in James' expression or movements. “Девять. Добросердечный.”
When James pulled the trigger, there was a click instead of a shot. He proved that Zemo was wrong about him. James showed he could make his own decisions and wouldn’t do things Zemo wanted him to do; the things the baron, who was counting moves, and manipulating people, drove him to. He was like a word, which got into the code as if by accident, describing his personality. A mockery of the manipulator reading the code.
“Возвращение на Родину. Один.”
Suddenly James shifted, lowered his head onto Zemo’s lap. The baron’s hands hung in the air perplexedly, and he froze in that pose. Only after several seconds, he realized what it reminded him of.
A beaten dog used to live on a leash. Bucky…
He tore a chain and broke free; euphoria made him feel dizzy. A dog chased after a fox, and fell into a ravine, and broke his paws. And then, hardly alive, he crawled back home.
Zemo came around, realizing there were two words left. He touched James’ hair carefully.
“Грузовой вагон.”
The code didn’t work. No matter what any of them hoped. Sometimes winning is not winning at all. Especially, when you have nobody to share your joy with.