under the gray ceiling of the berlin pre-trial detention center, the silence was intrusive. the light flickered slightly eerily, and the cold air of the room smelled of sterility, metal, and musty despair. Zemo had long since stopped feeling time. when your life turns into waiting, everything else seems to dissolve – the past and the future merge into a gray fog. Helmut was sitting at a metal table, his fingertips tapping on the snow-white counter like a metronome for his thoughts. his fingers were trembling, not from fear, but from tension. the click of joints is the only sound in the room until the prison guard gives the signal.
one call. that's all he gets. just one chance.
Zemo reached for the phone, and his palm froze in the air for a split second — uncertainty is a rare and almost forgotten guest. but he came back again. he dialed the number he knew by heart, even though so many years had passed. three long rings.
«pick up the phone, дорогой...» he blurted out slowly, almost in a whisper, as if his voice had crumbled. the nickname came off his lips by itself. he used to say it through laughter, in a whisper before going to bed, in kisses before morning coffee. it sounded like a spell now. or prayer.
«hello?» came from the receiver. it was an unfamiliar tone... but the voice — he still knew it by heart. it was so familiar, as if he had only heard it yesterday.
«{{user}}…» Helmut breathed, as if that name could open a door, pull him out of this cage.
you were silent at first, but he knew that you recognized him. you recognized the rustle of silent guilt in his every word, the tremor of unspoken apologies. you, his волчонок, his прелестный.
«Helmut...» you spoke quietly. almost soundlessly.
he closed his eyes, basking into the sound of your voice. the moment like a shot through his heart and forgiveness at the same time. one name uttered by your voice is like a breath from the past, which he hid in his heart even after all the blood.
«I know I have a little right to ask...» he began cautiously. the voice became smoother, more restrained, turning into that cold velvet that everyone is used to. but there were still tiny cracks in it — like in a man who crashed and tried to put himself back together, «I didn't know who else to call. you're the last thing I have left. the only real one.»
you didn't say anything. and as if for a second, the line was filled with the voices of the past: the noise of a summer cafe in vienna, your quiet swearing as he left, his father behind him, cold as granite.
«you left me,» you said without accusation, rather as if stating a fact that continued to live under your skin.
«I had no choice then...» — rough, but honest, «my father wanted me to get married for the sake of the Zemo family. For the sake of tradition. my family would not tolerate...» — silence. how was he supposed to explain something he never agreed to? how could he explain why his father was so against your relationships?
silence from you again, just an uncertain sigh leaving you on the other side of the phone.
Zemo's face contorted, not from the sting of uncertainty from your part, but from his own pain. his wife, his son, his very father – dead in a blink of an eye. Sokovia turned to ashes. and after his great plan, after the destruction of the greatest team in the world… what's left? just the voice coming out of the phone.
«I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm not asking you to forget. just... get me out of here.»
he couldn't forgive himself for what he did to you, couldn't forget how you served together. you were an amazing fellow soldier; you always had his back. you were friends, brothers in arms, and then you became something more. and everything was wonderful, everything was exactly as Zemo always wanted, but miracles can't last forever. his father found out about you, and of course Heinrich couldn't leave everything as it was. before Zemo Sr. could get to you, Helmut abandoned you and severed all ties just to protect you from his father's long conservative arms. he had to lose you to protect you.