I have been excited for this chapter since I started writing this story. :D

I will say that I listened to the song "Feel Good" by Illenium on repeat while I wrote the dance scene. Feel free to listen to it while you read if you like that kind of music!

Bucky took a sip of his drink, ice bumping his lip, and grimaced. Sam was hell bent on getting his super soldier companion drunk despite his heightened metabolism. The drink currently in his possession held very little flavor and burned its path down the entirety of his throat.

Music thumped a deep bass at his back, audibly shaking the glass of the doors to the balcony he had retreated to. He had been no stranger to night clubs in his day, but they were a far cry to what he had experienced in the twenty-first century. He leaned his elbows on the balcony railing, looking out over the city before him. Faintly he could hear the sound of traffic far below him.

A low groan made its way to him from the dark corner he had been working hard to ignore. No doubt something unsavory was occurring there. This had not been how he had pictured spending his Saturday night. Dressed in clothing that while he had to admit, fit him nicely, were not his and left him feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. This was not him. These sleek lines and stylish shoes.

He turned from the city and back to the strobing lights of the night club. His eyes found Sam first. He was standing over a cocktail table, talking closely with a blonde woman Bucky didn't recognize, his hand dangerously low on the small of her back. The girl laughed, her hand smacking his chest playfully then lingering there.

Bucky rolled his eyes, looking away. Nearly half an hour ago he had slipped from his friend's side as he had distinctly felt like a third wheel as Sam had worked to ensure the attention of a brunette.

He found Miranda next. She was leaning back against the bar, a tall glass in her hand, its contents little more than ice. The same fluttery feeling overcame him now that had surfaced when she had strode into the common room hours before to join their small party before they had embarked into the night.

Her hair was taller and fuller than usual, accentuating the sharp line of her jaw, her defined cheekbones, and her razor sharp smile. She wrote a black jumpsuit that fit her upper body like a glove then flowed out into smooth pant legs. Their hard pressed crease drew a long line down her legs to the floor. The neckline was asymmetrical. One arm captured in a sleeve, the other free to display the harsh lines of her tattoo. It curled over her collarbone, flicked at the curve of her neck then curled down to the back of her palm.

She shifted slightly as through she could feel his eyes on her, and then her silver gaze slipped to him. She had known exactly where he had escaped to. Several people sifted through their eye line, many of the young men slowing to take her in, but her gaze never broke from his. Finally, she set down her drink, pushed off the bar, and strode toward him.

Daisy Johnson emerged from the sea of bodies at the center of the nightclub to reach for her. Behind her Daniel Sousa swayed, looking abandoned and entirely uncomfortable without his modern day guide beside him. Bucky and Sousa had exchanged skeptical glances when the door to the club had been thrust open and the music had burst out to meet them. This was not a night life either men were familiar with.

He watched as Miranda laughed and extricated herself from Daisy's boisterous grip. Miranda glanced back over her shoulder, flipping a very unladylike gesture toward the other girl's dramatized pout. Bucky smiled, taking another sip of his drink. He coughed, pressing a hand to his chest as he swallowed. God. What was this stuff? Starter fluid?

"You could at least try to look like you are having fun." She said as she stepped out into the balcony.

"Maybe." He shrugged a shoulder, hiding his smirk behind the rim of his glass as he took another drink. Really. Someone should just take this good awful thing out of his hand.

"You will disappoint Sam. He was very excited that you agreed to come. He was determined to act as wingman."

Bucky's eyes moved to Sam. He was back to the leggy brunette he had started the night with. Her dark skin was a lovely contrast to the white dress she wore. "I'm not sure he's meant for wingman duties."

"Nah. You'd do just fine on your own if you actually wanted the attention."

Bucky scoffed. "They'd take one look at this arm and run for the hills."

"James..." Miranda sighed, rolling her eyes.

He took in a slow breath, his skin tingling. The way she said his name... His God given name.

"Miranda..." He said, mimicking her tone.

"There are plenty of girls here looking to conquer your particular mountain."

"Is that the kind of euphemisms kids use these days?"

She laughed, her cheeks fever bright in the moonlight. He was treading in dangerous water.

"For example." Miranda nodded towards the interior of the club. "Exhibit A: Busty Blonde out on the dance floor. She looks at you every two minutes. Just to see if you've given up sulking on the balcony."

"I'm not sulking," he countered.

But sure enough when he followed the direction of her gesture, he caught sight of a petite blonde on the edge of the crowd. Her arms were up, her body twisting and turning to the beat of the music. She wore a metallic gold dress that caught the light like a beacon on midnight seas. The neckline plunged low between her ample breasts.

"And," Miranda drew out the word for a few moments "Cue the lustful stare."

And as if the girl had heard her words, her eyes looked to Bucky. When she realized that he stared back, her cheeks blushed red and she turned away from him.

Bucky cringed and Miranda laughed, throwing her head back. "You could at least go say hi."

"I'm not the kind of man she's looking for."

"You could have been."

He glanced over at her, brow raised in question.

"There are thousands of versions of yourself that you could have been."

When he did not speak she continued. "There are millions of moments that make you who you are because of the decisions that you did or didn't make. They all led you here. To this moment. To who you are right now. But you could become someone else entirely tomorrow. That's the thing about a moment. In that second, it's just a drop in the bucket. Sometimes it's hard to imagine the ripples that will follow."

"You sound like Strange. Talking fate and shit."

"Oh no. I don't believe in fate. I refuse to. Every decision you make alters the path of your future. You can be anyone you want. You just have to decide to be."

Bucky took another sip of his drink. "You really want me to go say hello to her that badly?"

She grinned a cheshire grin, glancing sideways at him. "Come on, Barnes. Live a little. Besides, when was the last time you got laid?"

He nearly choked. "How much have you had to drink?"

She laughed again, loud and boisterous. "Man, if sobriety was a line in the sand, I would be miles from the beach."

He shook his head at her, chuckling softly.

"Seriously though. You aren't even dancing. Go dance with her! We both know she wouldn't turn you down."

"I have no interest in dancing with strangers."

The man who would have approached a pretty girl from across the dance floor, all suave and cavalier, had died long ago in that icy canyon.

"Then dance with me."

Maybe it was all the shots Sam had been funnel feeding him since they had arrived, or maybe it was the challenge in her devilish smile, but against all his better judgement, he took hold of her outstretched hand.

She led him out to the center of the dance floor. He stood awkwardly, unsure he felt comfortable with how the people around them pressed in, filling in the path they had forged.

He watched as Miranda began to move, her body shifting and swaying in an undeniably pleasant way. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

Her eyes closed as she continued to dance. "Do you not know how to dance?"

"I know how to dance. I don't think this is dancing."

She laughed, lightly settling her arm over his shoulder. "Just move with the music. Whatever feels right. There are dozens of people around us, but none of them are watching."

And she was right. Every person around them was engrossed in their partner, paying no attention to the uncomfortable super soldier. He tried to do as she said, but it felt wrong, and he stopped immediately.

She laughed.

"See. I looked stupid. I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

"No. You were fine. But you are cute when you're flustered."

He hoped the darkness of the dance floor hid the bloom of red across his face. Miranda turned away from him then moved in close, reaching back to grasp his hips.

"Just...let the music take you. Don't think so much."

It was hard to think of much of anything over her close proximity. He could smell the sweet scent of her shampoo. The entirety of his nervous system of zeroed in on the pressure of her fingers against his hip bones. And then he was moving, shifting and rocking and rising with her, with the music. This felt right. This had to be what she had tried to explain to him, to show him. Her body pressed farther back against his, and he let out a shuddering breath.

There, in the middle of the dance floor, with the heat of hundreds of bodies pressing in, the bass of the music threatening to synthesize his soul, he felt entirely intoxicated. The languid feel of her body moving against his set every nerve in his body aflame. The world was an oil spill, and she was a match poised to drop.

One hand clung to his thigh, while the other slipped up her body to cup the back of his neck, her finger tips leaving a tingling trail in their wake.

"Fuck." He breathed a shaky breath against her collarbone as her head shifted to the side. His lips hovered inches from the curve of her throat. He trailed his fingers up the back of her raised arm. He let himself, for just a moment, explore the feel of her. The touch of his metal fingers was feather light. He watched as goosebumps raised on her skin in the flash of neon lights.

The beat of the music dropped and swelled, taking his heartbeat with it. Something burned low in his core. An ache he had not endured in a very long time. The hand on his thigh slipped upward, her slender fingers lifting the hem of his shirt ever so slightly. The muscles there contracted under her touch, and his breath hitched. He felt like he might combust, then and there. In the middle of the dance floor. At the end of her fingertips.

And then her fingers were in his hair. She twisted in his arms until she faced him, her lips a breath's length from his. They swayed, hip bone bumping hip bone, moved by the writhing tide of bodies pressing in around them. A sea of desire threatening to pull them under.

She looked up at him through dark lashes. His hand cupped her bare shoulder blade, the feel of her damp skin, the hard muscle there, sent a delicious thrill through his body. The beat dropped hard, the lights spiralling down. The bass so intense the speakers felt as though they might burst apart and every atom of his body with them.

And then, they were kissing.

Her fingers were in his hair, her nails slipping over his scalp. He shuddered at the sensation, drawing her close, dipping deeper into the taste of her. She yielded easily to the pressure of his mouth, far more malleable than he had ever imagined she would be. Had he imagined this? Imagined how the taste of her would burn like brandy. How her fingers would blaze like fire against his skin.

She tugged lightly on his hair as they parted, breathless, her teeth grazing over his lower lip. "Were there girls like me in that world you came from?"

He lowered his mouth until he hovered just above hers, then hesitated. If he submerged himself in her again, he feared he might never surface. He felt the rumble of a sound in her chest as she stretched upward towards him.

"There are no girls like you."