Came for the Low- Revised

Untitled Part 17

    "Zemo, where the hell are you!" Bucky shouted into the phone.

    "Where's the fun in that James?" Came his smooth voice, clearly amused at Bucky's expense.

    He took the phone from his ear, pacing as he fumed, wanting to punch a hole in the nearest wall. Unfortunately he was standing on the boardwalk of the hotel beach.

Calming himself enough to tolerate the man's voice again, Bucky raised the phone to his ear. "Listen. I helped you. I took care of the bathroom situation yesterday, and this is how you repay me?"

    "And I thank you, as does Christine. It was nothing personal. But —James— did you think I would simply turn myself in and let you take me back to prison? Or perhaps wait until you alerted the Dora, as I'm certain you already have... which is why we're gone."

    "Yeah. Yeah I kinda got that!" He snapped sarcastically and looked up at the hotel from the ground. He was mostly angry that he was standing on the sand like an idiot in boots and jeans. Losing Zemo again, while infuriating, wasn't completely unexpected. "Listen, I know you're about to be a father again, and while I would love to let you just live out your days coaching your kids soccer team, you know I can't do that. You have to pay for what you've done Zemo, there's nothing else to say about it."

    "And in time, I'm certain I will. Until then, Thank you for everything. You are...a good man." Zemo paused realizing this was true. "Goodbye James."

    With a growl Bucky watched the call end and shoved his phone into his pocket. Well, at least he hadn't told Sam he was coming, no one other than Ayo (who was probably watching from some hidden spot and contemplating killing him for the mishap) had to know he'd been this close and let the bastard slip away.

    "Would you like a drink and tapas from the kitchen sir?"

    Bucky spun around coming face to face with one of the hotel staff holding a tray of sangria and plates of olives with cheese.

    He pulled a face like he wasn't sure, but... he was pissed off, here... in Spain... on the beach. "Just give it to me." He grumbled taking the tray.

    "Oh, I'm sorry those are for all of the..."

    Bucky glared at him, channeling his former self ever so slightly until the man backed away not wanting trouble. He chose to just let the American wearing a leather jacket with one sleeve and a metal arm—on the beach— walk away undisturbed with all the sangria and tapas he could handle.