Zemo adjusts his coat, exhaling sharply. "Earlier, I tried to take them out, but your psycho little girlfriend."

He doesn't get to finish.

Bucky moves before anyone can react. One second he's seated, the next he's across the room, his vibranium hand locked around Zemo's throat, pinning him against the wall. The force of it rattles the glasses on the table, a sharp gasp cutting through the tension, you're not even sure if it was yours.

"My what?" Bucky's voice is ice cold, low and lethal.

Zemo's fingers twitch at his sides, a flicker of unease breaking through his carefully practiced indifference. His mouth opens, but no words come out.

Bucky tightens his grip but not enough to crush, but enough to remind Zemo exactly who he's dealing with. "Say it again." His eyes are dark, stormy, and unrelenting.

Silence. The air crackles. No one dares move. And then, as suddenly as it started, Bucky lets go. Zemo stumbles forward, coughing, dragging in a breath.

Bucky doesn't spare him another glance. He just turns, strides back to his seat, and sinks into it like nothing happened.

His jaw is tight, his fingers flexing against his knee, barely keeping himself in check.

Sam exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. "Take it easy, man."

Bucky's gaze flicks to him, sharp and full of warning. "Don't push it."