Chapter Text
The evening of the gala finally arrived, bathing the Zemo manor in a warm golden glow. Chandeliers sparkled from the ceiling, casting dancing shadows on the walls adorned with paintings. The guests, dressed in their finest attire, moved gracefully through the grand ballroom, where soft classical music played by an orchestra enveloped the atmosphere in timeless elegance. The tables were laden with refined delicacies: caviar, foie gras, delicate canapés, and champagne flutes sparkling in the hands of the guests.
The Soldier stood apart from the crowd, dressed in a classic black tuxedo that perfectly fit his athletic frame and concealed his metal arm. Only his silver fingers were visible, if one dared to look closely. Without his mask, his face was finally visible, revealing the fine features of a man in his thirties and piercing blue eyes. His mid-length brown hair, usually slightly tousled, was tied back in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck, and a few days’ growth of beard added a touch of ruggedness and charm to his appearance.
He appeared isolated, but his vigilant gaze swept across the room, analyzing every movement, every face, in search of the slightest sign of suspicion. His mission of protection took precedence over all other considerations.
Among the guests, Baron Heinrich Zemo stood out with his imposing presence and natural charisma. He moved from group to group, shaking hands, exchanging smiles and kind words. The Soldier watched him closely, ready to intervene at the slightest threat.
" Neverím ..! I can't believe it..!"
The Soldier startled slightly when young Zemo suddenly appeared before him, his eyes wide, fixed on the Soldier, his mouth open in astonishment.
How had the Soldier not heard him approaching? Was it his concentration? The music?
Helmut stared at the Soldier unabashedly, overwhelmed by disbelief as he had spotted the Soldier from the other side of the reception hall. He hadn’t recognized him without his mask and assassin’s uniform. And now, standing before him, he was stunned. The Soldier was... magnificent…
Helmut's heart raced. He had always known the Soldier was charming, but seeing him like this, in a new light, exceeded all his expectations.
The young master was accustomed to refined appearances and elegant surroundings, but what he saw at that moment left him speechless. Though the Soldier was intimidating in his Winter Soldier guise, in this simple but perfect tuxedo, he exuded a magnetic presence, a brutal and intense beauty that captured the attention of everyone who looked at him, especially Helmut.
The Soldier was handsome, with a gravity that added to his mystery.
"You are..." Helmut cleared his throat to regain his composure. "very elegant like this," he said, unable to hide the amazement in his voice. He smiled, his eyes shining with sincere admiration. "I would never have recognized you. You are truly stunning."
The Soldier looked into the young master’s eyes, suppressing a sigh of pleasure at the praise. He must not forget that he wasn’t wearing his mask, and he couldn’t afford to show that he was sensitive and receptive to such words. Despite this restraint, a slight feeling of pride welled up in him, a rare and precious sensation. But he remained focused on his mission, aware of the importance of his task that night.
"Thank you," he replied simply, his voice steady but with a touch of gentleness. "But I must stay focused. That's why I'm here."
Helmut nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation but unable to resist staying close to the Soldier, drawn by this protective and reassuring presence.
He leaned against the wall just beside him and called over a passing waiter to grab a glass of champagne, which he began to sip.
Together, they observed the proceedings of the gala, one with the keen eyes of a protector, the other with a heart racing with a new, troubling emotion.
That was something unexpected.
The evening progressed with grandeur and anticipation as Baron Heinrich Zemo, distinguished in his bespoke suit and imposing presence, made his way to the center of the grand ballroom. The guests had gathered, their conversations quieting in anticipation of the Baron's speech, a crucial moment in the evening's festivities. Helmut observed attentively from his vantage point, discreetly scrutinizing the Baron's movements while casting occasional glances at the Soldier beside him. The atmosphere was filled with admiration for the Baron and an underlying tension stemming from political uncertainties between Sokovia and the United States.
Baron Zemo cleared his throat, his voice resonating through the room with authority and charisma.
"Ladies and gentlemen, dear guests," he began, his words deliberate and measured. "Tonight, we gather not only to celebrate but also to think. Our nation stands at a crossroads, where the decisions made tonight will shape our future."
His speech addressed themes of sovereignty, unity, and the challenges facing Sokovia on the global political stage. He emphasized the importance of alliances, economic stability, and defending Sokovian interests against external pressures. Each word was carefully chosen to resonate with the elite audience, expressing strength and resolution. Helmut glanced at the Soldier, noting his unwavering focus on the Baron. Despite the elegance and charm he had displayed moments before, the Soldier's demeanor now reflected that of a dedicated sentinel, ever vigilant and ready to protect.
At the conclusion of his speech, applause filled the air, mingled with murmurs of approval and respect. Captivated by the drama unfolding that evening, Helmut turned to the Soldier with a spark of curiosity in his eyes.
"What do you think?" Helmut asked in a low voice, barely audible above the crowd's murmur. "About his speech?"
"His words are calculated," he replied evenly. The Soldier's gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable. "He knows what he's talking about."
Helmut nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the Soldier's brief yet insightful response. Despite the festive atmosphere, underlying tensions simmered beneath the surface, palpable to those attuned to the nuances of power and diplomacy.
As the gala evening extended into the night, Helmut and the Soldier remained on the periphery, observing the ebb and flow of conversations, noting forged alliances and tacitly broken ones. The evening promised intrigue and revelations, where every glance, every exchanged word could hold significance in the complex dance of politics and influence.
For the young man standing alongside this enigmatic Soldier, it was a night of discovery—a journey into the depths of alliances, power dynamics, and perhaps an unexpected exploration of the true nature of a man shrouded in mystery.
They were brought back to the present moment when the Baron himself approached them. The younger man cursed under his breath, understanding what would follow.
"Helmut, please come with me. Allow me to introduce you to some people."
The young man followed his father reluctantly through the maze of guests, well aware of the importance of these superficial encounters for his family's reputation and alliances. He had never been passionate about the political aspect of the Zemo family or HYDRA's manipulations. It was a part of his heritage that he accepted with resignation rather than enthusiasm. Yet, as a Zemo, he had to play his role, maintaining appearances despite his own disagreements.
As he followed his father, Helmut grabbed a fourth glass of champagne, congratulating himself internally for this small, silent rebellion. If he could embarrass his father for just a few moments by having drunk a little too much at the gala, it might provide a small respite in this evening of protocols and hypocrisy.
The introductions continued, each name echoing in the air filled with cigar smoke and expensive perfume. Helmut greeted politely, smiled cordially, all while keeping an eye on the Soldier who discreetly followed them. He noticed that the Soldier's presence brought a certain comfort, a silent reminder of integrity and determination amid this world of pretenses.
While his father exchanged pleasantries and veiled promises with various influential guests, Helmut let his mind wander. He thought about his own aspirations, far from the power intrigues and facade alliances. Perhaps there was a different path for him, away from the shadow of HYDRA and political scheming. But for now, he had to play the game, conform to the expectations imposed by his name and heritage.
The Soldier, always vigilant, kept a respectful distance, observing each exchange with impassive attention. His role as a silent protector was clear, even amid this evening of festivities and power plays. Helmut wondered what the Soldier thought of all this, this world of appearances and manipulations.
As the night slowly progressed, Helmut felt increasingly disconnected from this artificial reality. He struggled to maintain a mask of politeness and assent, even as his thoughts wandered to more authentic and free horizons, and his eyes continually darted between the guests and the Soldier.
Helmut felt the effects of the alcohol dulling his thoughts as he tried to keep a serious face during the sterile political conversations. He had reached his quota of champagne for the evening and began to feel the urgent need to slip away. With a vague pretext about needing to refresh himself, he politely excused himself from his father and the other guests, then discreetly headed toward the stairs leading to his room.
The Soldier, true to his duty, found himself at a crossroads. He felt Helmut's questioning gaze as he weighed the difficult choice between staying by the Baron's side or following the young Zemo. His duty was clear, but a part of him felt drawn to the young master's troubling presence. However, after a moment of reflection, he opted for loyalty to the Baron, knowing that his responsibility took precedence.
Helmut, a bit disappointed but understanding the Soldier's decision, leaned close to his ear to whisper.
" You can join me later in the night, after the gala. "
Then, without waiting for an answer, he left the room, leaving the Soldier troubled by this brief but significant interaction.
The Soldier watched Helmut walk away, a strange feeling of confusion and intrigue gripping him. The young Zemo's words echoed in his mind, disturbing the impenetrable facade he had worked so hard to maintain. In this world of political calculations and fragile alliances, an unexpected connection was forming, challenging the limits of his role as protector.
While he remained by Baron Zemo's side, his gaze occasionally drifted into the void, absorbed by thoughts that found no immediate answer.
The night wore on, but for the Winter Soldier, a new dynamic had just been established—a dynamic where duty and emotions seemed to intertwine, creating a palpable tension in the increasingly sparse ballroom air.
It was nearly two in the morning when the manor was finally empty, and the Baron turned to the Soldier.
" D'obrú robotu si urobil dnes večer You did a good job this evening," he began, his piercing eyes fixing on the Soldier with cold admiration. "You drew attention but didn't arouse suspicion. Without your uniform, your mask, and your visible arm, it was as if you were undercover. I appreciate that."
He paused, scrutinizing the Soldier as if to evaluate his response before continuing.
"Thank you for watching over my son during the evening. I feared that Antonov might target him while I was preoccupied with the festivities and my speech. I will make a favorable report to Strucker."
The Baron nodded, indicating that the Soldier could now retire for the night.
"A room has been prepared for you in the guest wing upstairs, if you need it. Although, I wonder if you even feel the need to sleep."
The Soldier, appreciating the praise, bowed respectfully.
"Thank you, Baron," he replied, his voice low and steady.
The Baron nodded and headed to his Suite, leaving the Soldier alone in the now-silent grand hall.
Unsure of what to do next, the Soldier recalled the young Zemo's proposition. The memory of his words whispered near his ear still resonated in his mind.
You can join me later in the night, after the gala.
Intrigued and slightly troubled by this invitation, the Soldier slowly made his way to the stairs. Each step echoed in the silent manor. As he ascended, he passed the doors of the guest rooms but continued to the young Zemo's room.
Arriving at the door, he hesitated for a moment. He wasn't used to following his own desires or curiosities. His life had been dictated by orders and missions. But tonight, something was different. He knocked softly on the door.
"Come in," said a voice from the other side.
The Soldier pushed the door open and entered the room. Helmut was sitting by the window, a half-empty glass of champagne in his hand. His eyes lit up when he saw the Soldier enter.
"I wondered if you would come," he said with a smile.
The Soldier closed the door behind him, standing there, uncertain of what awaited him. But for once, perhaps, he was ready to find out.