The following weekend, Eddie glanced at the caller ID as her phone buzzed, wondering why on Earth Lena would be calling her instead of texting. "What's up?"

"You're riding with us to the dance tonight, right?" Ah, yes. It was far easier for Lena to nag her on a call than via text.

"No, thanks. I'm not going out tonight." Or, more accurately, Eddie would still be riding the train back down to DC when Lena left for the dance. But she wasn't about to tell her friend she was currently en route to the Avengers compound.

"Are you okay?" Lena asked immediately, sounding concerned. "You need me to bring you some chicken soup? Or medicine?"

"I'm not sick," Eddie denied, though she was touched that Lena would've brought her soup if she was. "I've just got other plans."

There was a long, disbelieving pause. "Oh my God. Do you have a date?" Lena spoke the accusation with a mix of stunned betrayal and delight.

Eddie sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "No, Lena."

"Bring him dancing!" Lena demanded, ignoring Eddie's denial completely.

"Goodbye, Lena," Eddie said briskly.

"Wait wait wait—"

Eddie hung up, shaking her head and reclining in the backseat of the car that had once again met her at the station. She'd have to come up with an explanation for her absences on Saturday nights in the future. Something sustainable long-term—Lena would get wise if she was 'sick' too often, and would demand to meet her boyfriend if she said she was on dates. Probably best to tell her, vaguely, that it was a work project that required her to travel.

Lena didn't really know what Eddie did, except that it involved finance, she was employed by the government, and Eddie refused to talk about it. She probably thought Eddie worked for the CIA, or something. Which was wrong, but not too far off.

Romanov was already standing outside the gate again when Eddie arrived. Before she could offer a greeting, Romanov said shortly, "Barnes wanted to cancel."

Eddie couldn't say she was surprised, given how things had ended last time. "I take it you didn't let him."

"Of course not." Romanov paused, glancing at her. "You don't want to know why?"

Eddie blinked, puzzled. "He gave a specific reason?"

"Yes. He doesn't believe me when I tell him you know what he's done." Romanov gave her a patient, expectant look. Eddie halted in front of the door to the compound.

"Wait." Eddie tilted her head, trying to work through Barnes's logic. "Does he want me to know? Or to not know?"

"He doesn't want to 'endanger some girl who doesn't have a clue who the hell she's dancing with,'" Romanov said, clearly quoting him verbatim and also clearly unimpressed with the reasoning.

Eddie thought it was a reasonable complaint, if ill-informed. "And you did tell him I know exactly who I'm dancing with?"

Romanov nodded. "He doesn't seem to believe us." She looked expectant.

"Are you—" Eddie stopped and massaged the bridge of her nose. "Are you going to make me go in there and reassure him that I'm... okay with him putting his assassin hands on me?"

"I doubt that'd be the best way to phrase it, but yes." Romanov was clearly enjoying this on some level. Eddie sighed, resigned. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? She should have expected this, really.

"You realize typical dancing conversation is 'Where are you from?' and 'Where'd you go to school?' Not, 'By the way, I'm already familiar with everyone you killed when you were brainwashed by Nazi scientists, and I'm cool with it'?"

"He's not exactly your typical dance partner." Romanov held the door open and raised an eyebrow.

Eddie sighed and trudged through the door, muttering insults about spies and Avengers that Romanov gracefully ignored.

Barnes was leaning on the wall of the dance room when Eddie walked in, an eerily similar position to the one Steve had been in when she'd arrived last week, except moodier. Eddie dropped her purse on the floor near the wall and rolled her shoulders, straightening to her full height as she turned. She strode over with a confidence she didn't really feel, and stood toe to toe with him, waiting.

He stared at her for a moment, eyes wide, then glanced away, jaw tight. "You shouldn't have come back."

Eddie folded her arms, unimpressed. "I didn't come all the way up from DC to not dance."

Barnes's shoulders hunched, and he glared at her. Eddie was not pleased to have that look directed at her, but willed herself to plant her feet and not back up. She resisted the urge to look at his mechanical hand, to see if it was clenched into a fist, but only just.

"You don't know what you're doing. Leave."

"I was SHIELD, Barnes. I know enough." Barnes shook his head stubbornly, not meeting her eyes anymore. "I'm not as familiar with your dossier as Rogers and Romanov, but I know the highlights. Numbers. Names." Barnes's eyes snapped back to her, wide and surprised. Eddie probably shouldn't have felt as satisfied as she did at the expression. "If it really matters that much to you, I bet Romanov would let me read your file cover to cover. I imagine that might take a while, but I assure you I'd come right back here."

And she meant that. She might teeter back on wobbly knees, but she'd manage it.

Barnes swallowed loudly. The hostility he'd been radiating since before she'd entered had disappeared, leaving him pale and uncertain. "Why?"

This question Eddie was prepared to answer, because she'd been asking herself the same thing every day since she agreed to this ridiculous proposition.

"There really isn't much I wouldn't do for Romanov or another Avenger if they asked me nicely," Eddie admitted. And it did feel like an admission, because she really wasn't sure where she'd draw the line with that, and that scared her on a pretty deep level. "This isn't too bad, really. I get to dance, and unlike other things Romanov might've asked of me, I doubt anyone's going to try to shoot me over it."

"You're not afraid?" Barnes asked, skeptical. As well he should be, because she was. With his trained eye he could probably tell, too, so Eddie didn't even bother trying. She dodged the question instead.

"Despite the doubts you clearly have about yourself, I seriously doubt Rogers and Romanov would have set this up if they thought you would hurt me."

Barnes chewed on that for a long moment before musing aloud, quietly, "Awful lot of trust."

Eddie shrugged. "Well, Romanov also promised that you wouldn't try to feel me up while we dance, so that's a bonus, too."

"What?" Barnes looked baffled, and the confusion dissipated the air of gloom he'd been exuding.

Eddie shook her head, stepping back and offering her right hand expectantly. If he wanted answers, he'd have to talk while dancing. He looked at her hand distastefully for a long moment, but eventually sighed and took it. FRIDAY began playing music without prompting.

"Well?" Barnes asked expectantly once he'd started the dance.

"I go dancing all the time. Most guys are perfect gentlemen, but some aren't." At Barnes's curious look, she continued, "They'll press real close—" Eddie invaded Barnes's personal space for half a second to demonstrate how close she meant, earning raised eyebrows before she pulled away, "because they know most women are too polite to just walk away once they've started dancing."

Barne's lips twitched in an almost-smile, looking over Eddie's shoulder. "Steve used to punch guys like that."

Eddie laughed abruptly at the mental image of Captain America socking the septegenarian who'd pressed too close a few weeks ago, and the sound seemed to startle Barnes a bit. She smiled apologetically at him. "Maybe I'll take him with me in the future. Then he won't be completely useless on the dance floor."

Barnes shook his head at the joke. He paused for a long moment before asking, hesitantly, like he wasn't sure if he was being rude, "You don't have a guy to do the punching for you?"

"Nah," Eddie said carelessly, unbothered. "I'm an independent woman. If I really wanted anyone punched, I'd do it myself."

"If you say so." From the expression on Barnes's face and the glance he shot at her skinny arms, he doubted it. Eddie let him doubt. Despite her small size and frail appearance, she could pack a good punch. Not enough to lay out a super soldier, perhaps, but good enough to knock a regular man off his feet.

Eddie instead amused herself by recounting some of the ways men had tried to hit on her or Lena while dancing. She detailed the men who were very interested to ask what school she went to, then lost all interest when she replied that she was several years out of college, and the many men who'd told Lena, suggestively, that they'd never been with a black woman before.

"Oh!" Eddie shook her head in amusement as she recalled one of the most bizarre occurrences. "One time, this guy was bragging about how he was a landlord. He kept trying to persuade me to move into his building, and promised discounted rent—very sketchy."

Barnes looked unsure whether to be amused or horrified. "And you keep going back?"

"Of course," Eddie said immediately. "It's obnoxious sometimes, but why should I stop doing something I enjoy just because some men are asshats?" Eddie realized too late that 'asshat' was probably not a phrase Barnes would be familiar with. Luckily the term was fairly self-explanatory in context, and he didn't react to it with anything more than a slight widening of the eyes and an amused huff of breath.

"If you say so," he said again, shaking his head.

It was a much more enjoyable hour than the last time. Barnes seemed fully present the whole time, and entirely unrobotic. He didn't talk much, but Eddie didn't really expect him to. She doubted the stories he had to tell were quite as appropriate for social dancing. When the songs were too fast to talk, they were silent, and when the songs were slow enough for silence to stretch on, Eddie would toss out anecdotes about Lena, or her family, or her time at SHIELD.

Barnes didn't laugh, or joke any further, but there was a light in his eyes that was almost like laughter when she talked, which she counted as a victory.

All in all, she thought it went very well. Which was why she was surprised when the last song came to an end and Barnes said quietly, "This should stop."

Eddie blinked. Barnes was staring at his feet, and though FRIDAY had stopped playing music and Eddie had dropped her left arm from his shoulder, Barnes had yet to let go of her right hand.

"I don't get the feeling that's what you actually want," Eddie said, wiggling her hand in his prosthetic one to emphasize her point. Barnes looked taken aback and dropped her hand quickly. "So what's the real problem?"

Barnes fisted his hands at his sides and fixed his gaze over Eddie's shoulder, glaring out the window. It took him a minute, but eventually he forced out, "This isn't who I am anymore."

Eddie thought she could see where this was going, but still prompted, "I don't understand."

Barnes's eyes flicked toward her doubtfully before darting away again. "Steve." His jaw worked silently for a bit before he continued. "He wants me to be the Bucky he remembers, but that's… I'm not that man anymore."

"Hmm." Eddie considered it only for a second. "Nope."

"No—" Barnes started to repeat it, surprised, but cut short. "That's all this is. I used to go dancing before the war, so he wants me to dance."

Eddie shook her head. She could have sworn the super soldier serum was supposed to enhance intelligence, too. Maybe the HYDRA knockoff was deficient in that aspect.

"What he wants, you idiot, is for you to be happy," Eddie explained impatiently, not particularly caring anymore that she'd just called a deadly assassin an idiot to his face. Fortunately for her, Barnes didn't seem to care either. "He doesn't want you to dance because it's something you used to do. He wants you to do it because he remembers it made you happy. You could pick up finger painting, or stamp collecting, or rhythmic gymnastics, and so long as it made you happy Steve would support you. Surely you realize that?"

Barnes looked wrong-footed. He fell into a look of deep concentration, like he was attempting to do complex long division in his head. Finally he blinked, face clearing, with a soft, "Oh."

Eddie snorted. "Oh," she repeated, stalking over to the side of the room to pick up her purse. She opened the door to the dance room, finding Romanov and Rogers already waiting outside.

"How'd it go?" Romanov asked.

Eddie was fairly certain she already had a very good idea, so in lieu of a real answer Eddie informed her seriously, "All men are idiots."

"Hey, now," Rogers protested half-heartedly, looking unsure whether he had a right to be offended, but Romanov nodded seriously at the universal truth.

"That they are. Come on, I'll walk you out."

Barnes was sat on the floor against the wall when Eddie returned the next week, reading. Eddie tilted her head as she entered to read the title.

"To Kill A Mockingbird?" Not what she would have expected, but she supposed it was a classic that came out after... well, after.

Barnes marked his place with a bookmark and set the book aside, standing with a sort of fluid grace that reminded Eddie, abruptly, that this man was deadly. It was easy to forget when they were dancing. Eddie wasn't sure yet whether that was a good thing or not.

"Just trying to catch up on what I've missed."

Eddie couldn't imagine how she'd feel if she woke up several decades in the future to a world so changed. That sort of culture shock was enough to drive a lesser person crazy, she thought, even without being brainwashed and used as a killing machine. It was a heavy prospect. Eddie dealt with it the way she dealt with other heavy, emotional topics: diversion.

"Oh yeah? Does that mean I can play some music written after 1945?"

Barnes shrugged easily, strolling to the center of the room and waiting for her to join him. "Be my guest."

Eddie couldn't contain a smile. Music from the 40s was okay, but Eddie preferred music from the 50s and the 90s swing revival, which was generally faster. And Eddie very much liked to go fast.

"FRIDAY, do you have access to my music?" Eddie asked aloud, casting her eyes to the ceiling even though she knew the AI didn't have a physical presence to look at. It made her feel better to address the speakers than to acknowledge that the program was everywhere. "My playlists should be public."

"Yes, Ms. Edwards."

"Excellent. Put my swing playlist on shuffle, would you? And start with Johnny B. Goode."

Eddie joined Barnes in the center of the room, putting her hand in his as FRIDAY obeyed. Barnes's eyebrows shot up at the speed of the guitar riff that began the song, and it took him a moment to find the beat of the music and adjust.

"What is this?"

"This, my friend, is Chuck Berry." Eddie paused. "Have you seen 'Back to the Future' yet?" Barnes shook his head. "You'll have to add it to your list. Along with Chuck Berry."

"If you say so." Barnes said this in the same amused, indulgent tone in which Eddie's father said 'yes, dear' to her mother. Eddie narrowed her eyes at him.

"I do say so," Eddie confirmed. "What else is on your list?"

"Besides everything that's happened since 1945?" Barnes asked, voice dry.

"You don't need to catch up on everything. Just the important stuff," Eddie countered, though she got his point. "Tell me what you've caught up on already, then."

Barnes's eyes went distant, clearly running through a sort of mental list. "The history of the world since the end of the war. The big stuff, anyway. Other wars. The Civil Rights movement. The moon landing," He began. Eddie nodded, figuring that stuff was kind of a given. "Technology... Star Wars."

"All of them?"

Barnes blinked, a line forming between his brows. "There's just the three, right?"

Ah, to live in a world where that were true. Eddie nodded, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "Yep."

Barnes shot her an odd look at the smile on her face, but continued. "Steve and I are supposed to watch Indiana Jones next."

"Those are classics." Eddie nodded thoughtfully. "And bad things happen to Nazis in them, which I'm guessing is a plus for you two. What about music?"

Barnes had raised an eyebrow at the Nazi comment, but shrugged at her question. "I like the Beatles."

"Everybody likes the Beatles, Barnes."

"Bucky." He had a stubbornness in his face, and now that she'd danced with him several Saturdays in a row, the name didn't feel quite as inappropriately familiar, so Eddie acquiesced.

"Everybody likes the Beatles, Bucky," Eddie corrected. "What else have you listened to? Bowie? Madonna?" Bucky looked bemused, shaking his head mutely. "What about musicals?" Another shake.

Eddie started composing the list of things he'd need to see in her head as they danced, talking out loud, more at Barnes than to him. "The Sound of Music and Singin' In the Rain are probably some of the most famous. Lots of pop culture references to those. The Jungle Book, of course, because the music's so good—but the original, not the new one. The Blues Brothers, obviously. The Music Man…"

"You know I've got to sleep sometime, right?" Bucky looked a little alarmed at how rapidly his list was growing.

Eddie scoffed. "If you've got time for Indiana Jones, you've got time for the Blues Brothers."

"If you say so," Bucky said again. Eddie shook her head, but let it slide, lapsing into a comfortable silence as they danced.

"How'd you learn to do this, anyway?" Bucky asked later, as Ella Fitzgerald sang about paper moons and canvas skies in the background. "I thought nobody danced like this anymore."

"Well, not nobody." Eddie corrected. "There's a pretty big subculture for it ever since the '90s. Most big cities in the U.S. have a swing club, or at least a venue that hosts dances pretty regularly. And lots of colleges have clubs."

"Is that where you learned? College?"

"I learned to lead in college, but I started taking lessons with my parents when I was about 10."

"You were pretty good." Bucky's eyes were bright, probably at the memory of tall, muscly Captain America being led and spun around by a woman nearly a foot shorter. "Do we need to take turns?"

"God, no," Eddie denied immediately, not willing to indulge the idea even as a joke. "I hate leading."

"Really?" Despite the proposition, Bucky had made no move to swap their positions as the next song started, for which Eddie was thankful. "Why?"

Eddie shrugged carelessly. "Same reason I don't like driving: I prefer to enjoy the ride, rather than be responsible for thinking about where I'm going." Eddie cast an annoyed look up at him. "Besides, you're far too tall for that to be practical."

"Probably for the best," Bucky agreed seriously. "You're giving an awful lot of orders already."

"I'm trying to educate you, you ungrateful sod."

"Sure. Of course."

When their time was up, Eddie tossed a faux-stern, "Don't forget to do your homework!" over her shoulder on her way out of the room, earning a raised eyebrow from Natasha, who was waiting as usual to escort her back out to the car.

When she returned the following Saturday, she shot Bucky a warm smile as she set down her purse. "How was Indiana Jones?"

"It was good." He paused, then added, "You were right about the Nazis."

"You'll come to learn I'm right about nearly everything," Eddie joked.

Bucky shook his head, seemingly trying to repress the small, crooked smile on his face while waiting for Eddie to meet him in the middle of the room. Before Eddie could open her mouth to ask for music, he beat her to it. "FRIDAY, play it."

Eddie's puzzlement lasted all of half a second, turning into a grin of delight as the opening notes of 'Shake a Tailfeather' started. "You watched The Blues Brothers!"

"Turns out I had the time."