Wanda and Vision were slow dancing in a corner of the ballroom. There was a strange understanding between them. They had spent many days together after the fall of Sokovia. The twin had lost half herself, and the android was building himself from the beginning. They built together, slowly at first. Despite his human frame, he had trouble resting at night, and her nightmares drove her awake night after night. She would come in search of him, and Tony or Pepper would come down in the morning and find the girl curled up on his shoulder, asleep. Once, the two of them were making breakfast, Wanda covered in flour and Vision staring in great contemplation at an egg. He could speak to her in her native language and they started a habit of murmuring to each other privately in corners, as she introduced him to jigsaw puzzles, or hairbrushes, or analog clocks. He was always eager to learn and slow to pass judgement, very aware of his own youth and of the edges of his knowledge. No one felt comfortable speaking of their relationship as definitively sexual or romantic, but it involved a very deep, very obvious bond. The team respected it, and acknowledged it as mutually beneficial, and a few even envied the ease with which they occupied each other's time.
They both seemed inhuman tonight, she in a silver dress with scarlet shoes, her hair pulled up and back and then flowing heavily down her white shoulders. She leaned on him and his head ducked down to her, a surreal blend of modern colors and patterns in a period tuxedo. Anyone who danced nearby could see a faint smile on her lips as he murmured into her ear, swaying vaguely to the music.
Lady Sif and Agent Sharon Carter stood over by the buffet table, sampling Midgardian fruits and unmistakably shit-talking. The two women had forged an instant connection, and leaned back on the table in happy ease, pointing out various couples and individuals on the dance floor while laughing heartily. The women were protectors who rarely had a chance to let down their guard, and, in a room full of super-powered humanoids, in a hall no doubt surrounded by the best of human and robot bodyguards, they could relax. They exchanged stories of their worlds, demonstrated their favorite scars and battle wounds, and laughed hysterically at Sam and Darcy who were leading the pack of dancers with more enthusiasm than skill.
Up near the band at the front of the hall, a dance instructor led a small crowd in historical dances. Couples, either romantically involved or simple cobbled together for the sake of the dance, stepped to the rhythm of loud music and raucous laughter. Tony's champagne had considerably lightened any pretense of dignity in the room. Thor alone scowled with concentration, the size difference between him and Jane complicating their dance, as the slight woman clung to his arms and howled with laughter at his attempts. He was a good dancer in his own world, and slightly resented the much calmer, and more restrained motions of "ancient Midgard".
Tony and Pepper moved easily, dancing was a favorite of hers and he had taken the trouble to pre-familiarize himself with the new steps they were learning tonight. She laughed with him now, because it was impossible not to laugh when he was happy and flirty and having fun, but her eyes still wandered a little to some of the more nerve-wracking party guests. Her stomach twisted when she realized that Bucky was still sitting alone where she had left him, but now he leaned forward slightly, watching the dancing with interested eyes, especially Cap and Natasha.
Cap had remained at Bucky's side longer than was appropriate given that he was the guest of honor. Pepper had come over to them to beckon the Captain to the dance floor and she danced one song with him. Nat had been watching from the wall and when Tony came to intercept Pepper, Steve looked around and saw her with evident relief. Much to the appreciation of the floor, he walked over to her, bowed eloquently and kissed her hand, asking her to dance. They were a stunning pair, and stood at the front of the room, directly in front of the band. The dance instructor swirled off eventually, with Clint, who was determined to perfect his motions, and everyone was left to put their moves together however they liked to a stellar assortment of big-band and jazz.
Bucky was not the only one watching Cap and Nat. Every eye in the room was starting to gravitate towards the competitive pair as they stood at the front of the dance floor. She put her little hands on his shoulders and they lost themselves in a stubborn determination to master every move. Occasionally they would slightly collide, pull back to regroup, fiercely discuss what had gone wrong and then slowly move back into the dance. Soon they had a sequence of moves that worked well and the band was watching them, grinning as wide as anyone else. They allowed the music to lift bigger and bigger, swelling and lifting the two of them as they danced. It didn't take long for the pair to realize that lifts were easy for them. Steve would lift her up and she dipped and curved in the air over his head. Soon they were laughing, moving faster and faster in the now heated ballroom. Near the end of their third song, every other dancer formed a circle around them, clapping and hooting as they spun around each other. The band ended in a clash of percussion and they bowed, suddenly aware of their audience.
As Steve lifted up, Nat felt, through his fingers, his anxiety crash over him. His heartrate was elevated from the unusual exercise and he saw all eyes on him, the room's décor filling his mind with memories not at all welcome. His panicked eyes sought out Bucky as an anchor and he saw the man sitting, now withdrawn back into the chair – and suddenly everything was wrong.
The tall, handsome, swaggering best friend who had clapped him on the shoulder, picked them up dates every weekend, and watched his small friend with cautious, watchful eyes was now… this. It was so difficult to tell what he remembered, but there were waves of age which crashed over him at certain moments and drove a deep gulf in between them. All those years which Steve had lost, lived so desperately. He looked much the same, his fierce beauty, sturdy frame and deep, thoughtful eyes remained so that sometimes it was easy to mistake him for Sergeant Barnes. But not his humor, fast and wry, his big laugh, throwing back his head and shouting, his easy generosity and rock hard morality that had so shaped Steve's. No these were relics, memories as old and absurd as the room in which he now sat. This was not his Bucky, the man sitting in the chair, a half-filled champagne flute at his elbow, one hand half shielding his mouth, deep eyes cautiously surveying the room. Bucky in social situations was always in the middle, wild and flirtatious, humans hanging off of him with glowing eyes, laughing and drinking and dancing - he was so good at dancing. His eyes would always peel off every few minutes to watch his shrunken friend, sitting quietly alone with his strange opinions on dance. "The right partner". Now Steve was the one in the middle and it felt wrong, more wrong than the hairstyles and the old shoes, and the light fixtures, this was wrong. Bucky – Sergeant Barnes – was gone.
Steve's fingers clenched on Natasha's and she read it instantly, spinning in front of him as though as a finalizing dance move. "Steve!" She hissed, drawing her hand down his face elegantly, forcing his eyes down to hers. Her face was still and serious, "I've got him. You need to go talk to Agent 13, ok? Okay, Steve, listen to me." Her tone of voice was fierce and level, like an officer calming a battle-shocked boy in a warzone.
His eyes calmed down. Her poise was a lifeline, he centered on her.
"Agent 13," he repeated, unsure.
"She wants to dance with you. Ask her!"
"Nat, this isn't the time to..."
"Captain," her eyebrow quirked. "Trust me."
"Yes ma'am." His eyes trailed over her shoulder to Bucky one more time, whose own eyes had wandered off to watch the percussionist trying (and failing) to catch Nat's eye by spinning his drumsticks over his head. Then Steve obediently moved off to the buffet table, while Lady Sif unsubtly strode away from the agent in a sudden inspiration to seek out a stronger alcohol.
Natasha waited until Steve was engaged in conversation with the pretty agent and allowed herself to disappear against the wall for a moment, not an easy feat in a room where everyone was acutely aware of her. But one of her skills was to easily command the attention of a room and then as easily to shake it off. She moved towards Bucky, trying to swallow the evident curiosity in her face and sunk down next to him on the neighboring chair. His eyes followed her but the rest of his body remained still: cautious and tired in equal measure.
She ordered a whiskey from one of the least nervous servers who had allowed herself to move closer to Bucky than any of the others and she waited while the band struck up a new song, a slow dance this time, and Steve led his new partner to the floor.
"Are you waiting for me to speak first?" Barnes asked, watching her now with open curiosity.
