[Definitely still a date. He treats all their meetings, no matter how casual they may appear to be, as if they're dates. Always on his best behavior, always putting his best foot forward. He doesn't want to mess this up - but now he's feeling... uneasy. She's been keeping something from him? And he's been keeping something from her...
Zemo tries not to dwell upon the multitude of possibilities while he hurries around the penthouse with his last-minute preparations. Surely he's overreacting, allowing himself to expect the worst and nothing less. And a part of him thinks it's ridiculous. It can't be that bad, right?
Right?
He does have some of the tea she's most fond of tucked away in one of the many cabinets in the kitchen. So he sets the tin down by the tea set on the counter before rushing to fill the kettle with (filtered) water and place it on the stove.
...But there's no pastries or cake. No cookies. Just pre-packaged biscuits that will have to do in such a pinch.]
See you soon.
[He's already in the elevator when he sends the text, freshly cologned and his hair fixed, and he'll be waiting downstairs outside the entrance to his building for her arrival. He looks nice - as always - with finely-tailored trousers, sharp dress shoes, his shirt tucked in and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows... It's like the man doesn't own a single t-shirt or a pair of jeans. (He does, but he chooses not to let her know that.) There's a bit of scruff on his face from forgoing his morning shave, but he'll forgive himself. He can make it work.]
[ Not that she actually had to send the text, since he's already downstairs by the time she alights from the cab. She smiles appreciatively at how nice he looks — and he always looks nice, though he doesn't have to be dressed to the nines for her to think that — but there's a clear hint of discomfort even at that familiar gesture.
She'd catastrophized in the cab, wondering if this might be it, the end of whatever they have. She didn't even dwell on the fact that he'd kept something from her as well, too caught up by her own secret. Maybe she likes older women, the self-deprecating side of her tried to joke, but she didn't feel reassured. Plus there's the fact that her body is technically a property of the United States government. How are they going to live with that?
The hug she gives him is a little too tight. Thankfully she catches herself after a moment and remembers not to crush him. ]
[The hug may be tight, but he accepts it with so much graciousness, chuckling soft as he returns the gesture with a squeeze of his own. It's nice, and she smells so good as always.
Any nervous jitters that were coursing through his system just moments ago are absolutely nowhere to be found. Her mere presence is so very comforting.]
Darling, any time.
[She gets the customary kisses to her cheeks before he lets her go, but he doesn't stray too far. Zemo's hand lingers, fingertips lightly brushing down her arm. Almost like he's dancing around attempting to hold her hand.]
Shall we go up? [His head casually giving a nod back towards the building, there's a faint smile playing on his lips.] I can put the kettle on.
[If she doesn't pick up what he's putting down and accept his hand, he'll just take hold of hers and give a gentle tug for her to follow him through the doors and back inside.]
[ Almost mindlessly, she catches his fingers; handholding is customary by now, too, and she's desperately clinging to anything comfortable and familiar. It helps, a little. She's at least able to crush her anxiety into a ball and shove it down the pit of her stomach. That'll have to do for now.
Despite her lack of appetite, still she says: ] Yes, please. I'd love some tea.
[ Another thing that's familiar. Another thing she'll miss if this whole thing goes south.
On the way up, she rehearses the words in her head. Strange how she can't find the words in this scenario when she can otherwise easily come up with some grand, inspiring speech. Maybe because it's easier to tell people what they want to hear. This, however, is the opposite of that. ]
[The doorman is already in front of them, pulling open the door for them to pass through. Zemo gives him a slight nod and a smile in thanks, casually ushering Stephanie inside first. He follows close, still holding fast to her hand and not wanting to let go.
The anxiety is contagious. Or it's just so thick between them it's nearly palpable. He can feel something by the time they get to the elevator and he hits the button for the floor of his penthouse.
Not a whole lot of talking going on. He figures they're both saving it for tea, and the last thing he wants to do is push an issue or ask too many questions. He's sure she'll tell him everything that's on her mind once they're up there. Or he'll end up poking and prodding until the information he gets is satisfactory enough.
It's just so strange. All of a sudden, seemingly out of nowhere - they need to have A Talk.
He exhales a sigh - in response to the thoughts dashing around inside his skull. And once he realizes he actually did that out loud (apropos of nothing happening in the car), his shoulders hunch and he looks over at her with the most guilty expression on his face.]
Apologies. [Pause.] It's tense. I'm tense. [And now he's tripping over his words, looking like a complete fool. He gestures toward himself with the hand that's currently squeezing hers, letting them both come to rest at his chest.] This is... tense, yes.
[He's so quick to crack isn't he?
The elevator comes to a stop and the door opens with a ding.]
[ That... actually makes her laugh. Short, quiet, but genuine. ]
We're terrible at this, it seems like.
[ Somehow it works. Some of the tension dissipates. She no longer looks like she's about to bolt any moment now. She squeezes his hand, but doesn't let go. Surely her secret couldn't be the worst thing in the world?
But maybe his is.
The treacherous thought comes unbidden and it almost makes her visibly bristle. Just almost, thankfully. ]
I know you said I don't gotta bring anything, but I brought us some wine.
[Oh good - she's laughing! That instantly makes him feel so much better. Almost like all the tension's just gone poof.
...Almost.
The look of sheer discomfort on his face softens, becomes much more easygoing and relaxed. He even manages a smile amidst his faint chuckles.]
We are, yes. Quite terrible. [But now he's smiling even more, completely at ease. In record time, really.
What was he so worried about again...?]
Did you? [His eyebrow raise at the admittance. He casually glances towards her bag.] You didn't have to, but perhaps we'll need some after the tea, hm?
[A playful jab, of course. The potential threat of... whatever their discussion is going to include still looms overhead. But he's made her laugh and she's brought a gift unprompted and maybe this will turn out alright in the end.
Zemo doesn't need to lead the way - since the elevator opens right into his penthouse here - but that doesn't mean he lets go of her hand. He would never. At least he's stopped gripping her tight by now.]
Let me put the kettle on. [He only parts from her once he's pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and given her hand a gentle squeeze. She's been here enough - the place is practically hers if she wishes. She can get settled however she likes.]
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Zemo tries not to dwell upon the multitude of possibilities while he hurries around the penthouse with his last-minute preparations. Surely he's overreacting, allowing himself to expect the worst and nothing less. And a part of him thinks it's ridiculous. It can't be that bad, right?
Right?
He does have some of the tea she's most fond of tucked away in one of the many cabinets in the kitchen. So he sets the tin down by the tea set on the counter before rushing to fill the kettle with (filtered) water and place it on the stove.
...But there's no pastries or cake. No cookies. Just pre-packaged biscuits that will have to do in such a pinch.]
See you soon.
[He's already in the elevator when he sends the text, freshly cologned and his hair fixed, and he'll be waiting downstairs outside the entrance to his building for her arrival. He looks nice - as always - with finely-tailored trousers, sharp dress shoes, his shirt tucked in and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows... It's like the man doesn't own a single t-shirt or a pair of jeans. (He does, but he chooses not to let her know that.) There's a bit of scruff on his face from forgoing his morning shave, but he'll forgive himself. He can make it work.]
no subject
[ Not that she actually had to send the text, since he's already downstairs by the time she alights from the cab. She smiles appreciatively at how nice he looks — and he always looks nice, though he doesn't have to be dressed to the nines for her to think that — but there's a clear hint of discomfort even at that familiar gesture.
She'd catastrophized in the cab, wondering if this might be it, the end of whatever they have. She didn't even dwell on the fact that he'd kept something from her as well, too caught up by her own secret. Maybe she likes older women, the self-deprecating side of her tried to joke, but she didn't feel reassured. Plus there's the fact that her body is technically a property of the United States government. How are they going to live with that?
The hug she gives him is a little too tight. Thankfully she catches herself after a moment and remembers not to crush him. ]
Thanks for having me.
no subject
Any nervous jitters that were coursing through his system just moments ago are absolutely nowhere to be found. Her mere presence is so very comforting.]
Darling, any time.
[She gets the customary kisses to her cheeks before he lets her go, but he doesn't stray too far. Zemo's hand lingers, fingertips lightly brushing down her arm. Almost like he's dancing around attempting to hold her hand.]
Shall we go up? [His head casually giving a nod back towards the building, there's a faint smile playing on his lips.] I can put the kettle on.
[If she doesn't pick up what he's putting down and accept his hand, he'll just take hold of hers and give a gentle tug for her to follow him through the doors and back inside.]
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Despite her lack of appetite, still she says: ] Yes, please. I'd love some tea.
[ Another thing that's familiar. Another thing she'll miss if this whole thing goes south.
On the way up, she rehearses the words in her head. Strange how she can't find the words in this scenario when she can otherwise easily come up with some grand, inspiring speech. Maybe because it's easier to tell people what they want to hear. This, however, is the opposite of that. ]
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The anxiety is contagious. Or it's just so thick between them it's nearly palpable. He can feel something by the time they get to the elevator and he hits the button for the floor of his penthouse.
Not a whole lot of talking going on. He figures they're both saving it for tea, and the last thing he wants to do is push an issue or ask too many questions. He's sure she'll tell him everything that's on her mind once they're up there. Or he'll end up poking and prodding until the information he gets is satisfactory enough.
It's just so strange. All of a sudden, seemingly out of nowhere - they need to have A Talk.
He exhales a sigh - in response to the thoughts dashing around inside his skull. And once he realizes he actually did that out loud (apropos of nothing happening in the car), his shoulders hunch and he looks over at her with the most guilty expression on his face.]
Apologies. [Pause.] It's tense. I'm tense. [And now he's tripping over his words, looking like a complete fool. He gestures toward himself with the hand that's currently squeezing hers, letting them both come to rest at his chest.] This is... tense, yes.
[He's so quick to crack isn't he?
The elevator comes to a stop and the door opens with a ding.]
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We're terrible at this, it seems like.
[ Somehow it works. Some of the tension dissipates. She no longer looks like she's about to bolt any moment now. She squeezes his hand, but doesn't let go. Surely her secret couldn't be the worst thing in the world?
But maybe his is.
The treacherous thought comes unbidden and it almost makes her visibly bristle. Just almost, thankfully. ]
I know you said I don't gotta bring anything, but I brought us some wine.
[ She's always been bad at following orders. ]
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...Almost.
The look of sheer discomfort on his face softens, becomes much more easygoing and relaxed. He even manages a smile amidst his faint chuckles.]
We are, yes. Quite terrible. [But now he's smiling even more, completely at ease. In record time, really.
What was he so worried about again...?]
Did you? [His eyebrow raise at the admittance. He casually glances towards her bag.] You didn't have to, but perhaps we'll need some after the tea, hm?
[A playful jab, of course. The potential threat of... whatever their discussion is going to include still looms overhead. But he's made her laugh and she's brought a gift unprompted and maybe this will turn out alright in the end.
Zemo doesn't need to lead the way - since the elevator opens right into his penthouse here - but that doesn't mean he lets go of her hand. He would never. At least he's stopped gripping her tight by now.]
Let me put the kettle on. [He only parts from her once he's pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and given her hand a gentle squeeze. She's been here enough - the place is practically hers if she wishes. She can get settled however she likes.]