Came for the Low- Revised

Untitled Part 15

DAY 18: ZEMO'S APARTMENT

    It was gorgeous, there was no doubt about that. She didn't think anywhere could be so beautiful after weeks spent living in the ruined shell of what might have been a grand place a long time ago, but this— Christine turned a slow circle in the center of Zemo's apartment.

    "Would you like some tea?"

    She spun around to find him moving with the grace of a man who had lived a life worthy of his title. It was calming to watch him and so she did for a while. He brought out two cups, set them on the tray and filled the pot, turned on the stove and set the kettle on it.

    When he looked up at her, realizing she was watching him, he seemed to understand how odd it must seem. Here was the man she'd guarded, the man she'd fed and given water to like a true inmate, now attempting to take care of her.

    It didn't seem to matter to him. "You're shaking." He said.

    Christine looked down at her hands. She was. This morning had fried her nerves

    "Here." He said reaching into his pocket. She watched as a wrapped piece of candy came flying through the air which she caught.

    "Turkish delight."

    "Tea and candy?" She smiled  down at the red piece in her hand."Are you trying to seduce me." She teased. There was nothing seductive about it. He was clearly trying to make her feel calm, she feared the only thing that might help at this point was a bottle of whiskey...

*

    They sat on the low couch, her curled up and facing him, staring at his now empty holsters and clean clothes. Zemo was relaxed, she was almost there, still the tension felt chorded in her muscles.

    Zemo touched her leg, stroking lightly. "Christine?"

    She sighed and rubbed her eyes a little, looking at him again. They'd been talking about something she'd gotten really good at avoiding, it was a sensitive topic to say the least and her mind was very good at shutting it down, especially when she knew he was trying to distract her from everything. She did appreciate the effort though.

    "I don't talk about her because it's sad and scary and I like to ignore the awful way it makes me feel." She finally answered. He'd asked about her mother before they even came to sit and she tried to remember how the topic came up but it didn't really matter.

    Sympathetic, his hold on her leg tightened ever so slightly. "It's all right if you don't want to say."

    "No, I want to."

    He waited patiently, that same caring look in his eyes as she'd first seen at the camp.

    With an exasperated sigh, Christine dropped her head back. "The fucked up thing..." She raised her head only to shake it—the emotion squeezing her voice. "She didn't even get to come back. The cancer took her so quickly the blip didn't make a difference. I don't know that it would have changed anything, but it's really hard to walk around seeing people reunite with the ones they lost when she missed the moment by weeks. They all got the second chance that death will never give me." She swallowed the lump in her throat. There had been so many tears in the days months and years after loosing her, hilarious and wild mother, that she felt empty now, just numb to it. "So here I am, an orphan." She shrugged.

    "How Dickensian." He deadpanned.

    She laughed and sighed rubbing her eyes, resting her head on her hand to gaze at him. "That's it, there's nothing left to say about my mother, not right now."