Came for the Low- Revised

Untitled Part 3

DAY 3

When he realized what it was he was waiting for, Zemo groaned at his own weakness. He blamed his long stint in that German prison. Too many days and nights spent looking at dark walls and the ugly faces of his guards. A lone beautiful woman and he'd remembered what it was to see one.

He couldn't ask for her of course, then they would use her to torment him.

He could take the blows, he could eat the shit food. He was used to sitting in solitude. What made him restless was the idea of her. Not specifics, just the general realization that she was a living breathing person who might walk through the door again.

That and the fact that her world was not safe. These people, were not safe. She wasn't one of them yet and they would not slow down for her.

As he listened to the dripping faucet and the constant back and forth of steps above, he blamed his concern for this woman he did not know on boredom. That was the easiest thing to do, but so often as he sat in that chair, willing his limbs to stop aching, he wondered if she was up there running around, trying her best to become some souped up version of herself when really the person she'd become without the aide of the serum was already so compelling.

DAY 5

Christine truly considered asking to be removed from Zemo's detail.

She didn't like the way he looked at her.

It wasn't creepy. He didn't come across like that or anything, but she just worried he'd figured her out before she even had a second conversation with him.

And there in lay the problem. Why did she want to have a second. This man had ruined her chances and yet as she sat in silence watching over him, she realized she was waiting for him to speak to her. 'Say something, anything you strange intriguing bastard' she shouted at him— silently of course. But the way he smiled back she swore he could hear every word.

The way he seemed to read her so easily was unsettling to say the least and yet she came back.

It was somehow easy to sit and watch him. Especially when he slept. Although sometimes she did wish she could let the man lie down.

On his fifth night when Corey asked her to switch shifts and she sat across the room watching him sleep —his head hanging down, his shoulders slumped— her own face twisted in a deep frown as she could feel his discomfort in her own body. She got up and took a few steps towards him, her boots silent on the concrete.

Half way across the room, she seriously considered letting him rest his head in her hand for a little while. She imagined what it would feel like to hold him as he slept, the battle between her kind heart and her determination to hate him ongoing as he raised his head and looked at her with tired eyes, the dark circles under them showing just how little sleep he'd really been getting. There was a cut down his lip and a bruise along his jaw from his latest interrogation.

In spite of his misery, Zemo looked into her eyes and knew she meant him no harm, in fact she was sure he could see that she wanted to comfort him. She quickly looked away, turning back to the safety of the space between them, finding her chair and plopping down into it.

The next day, Christine took herself off the roster.

*

Christine leaned into the Baron as they left the club, the warm night still cool and quiet in comparison.

She followed him around the building and down a flight of stairs still buzzing from their first real night out that did not consist of evading assassins or hiding.