"Vision?" she said, a little nervously one evening as they sat in her poky apartment on a mess of pillows, Rachel Carson curled up between them and Carrie muted on the television. The Avengers had been away for a couple of weeks, and she had been unable to contact them; it was the longest she had gone without talking to Vision since they had met, and although she wouldn't admit it, she had missed him. Sam too, though perhaps not quite as much. She hadn't bared her soul to him yet.

"Eva?"

"Your computer internet brain means you know everything, right?"

"Not quite," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"Sam wants to take me to a dance," she confessed, "like, a proper swing dance club. And I have never, ever danced. And it's kinda hard to learn off youtube tutorials."

"You want me to teach you how to dance?" Vision asked, scratching Rachel Carson between the ears.

"Do you know how?"

"In theory," he said, his eyes un- and refocusing as he no doubt googled it, "although I've never tried."

"We can learn together," she said, "and then maybe I won't look like a complete moron tomorrow." She pulled out her phone, connected it to her stereo and scrolled through until she found something that wasn't classical, ending up on a grainy Elvis song.

"You wouldn't anyway," Vision told her, pulling her to her feet and to the small patch of floor that wasn't covered in pillows. He guided one of her hands to his shoulder and held the other out to one side.

"So how was your super secret mission?" she asked him, as he slowly showed her the steps.

"Very confidential."

She sighed. "One day, I'll get something out of y'all. One day."

"Feel free to keep trying," said Vision. "Can I ask you something?"

"Depends. What is it?"

He looked away for a moment, seeming a little confused. "I don't understand fashion," he said, "why some people adhere to it and others-"

Her laughing cut him off. "Seriously? Of all the batshit crazy stuff in this world, and you're confused by fashion? Although I suppose it'd make sense, considering the cape."

"I… feel like that was an insult."

"Don't take it personally." She tried to figure out how to explain it to him. "Uber rich people design ridiculous clothes every month, high street shops make cheaper versions that are slightly less weird, and if people like it, they buy it."

"But why does it change?"

"I dunno. So we can look back at what we were wearing twenty years ago and laugh? I mean, have you seen the nineties?"

"And not everyone ascribes to it."

"Nope. There's like… always an alternative fashion too, if you don't like what's happening in the mainstream, or you're a hipster. But I don't want to talk about hipsters, they remind me of work."

He lifted his arm and she spun beneath it. "It all seems somewhat pointless."

"Dude," she said, "ninety per cent of the stuff humans do is pointless. Like dancing."

"Don't you enjoy it?" he asked.

"I'm enjoying it now," she replied, "in a room full of people including my hot date it might be a little different."

%

"Oh, my God," said Eva, fanning herself as Sam approached her outside the entrance to the 1950s-esque club. "Oh, my God. I'd forgotten you had a military uniform. Holy crap."

He grinned. "You don't scrub up too badly yourself, Miss Monroe," he replied smoothly, as they walked inside.

"Please," she huffed, "just because I bleached my hair. If anything, I'm Grace Kelly."

It was a gorgeous ballroom, with a varnished dancefloor, chandeliers dangling precariously from the ceiling, and a live band on the poky stage.

"You got good taste, Avenger Wilson," she said.

"Well," he said, "it was suggested to me, actually."

"Let me guess- by a fellow super who was born during the first world war?"

"Possibly. So, pretty girl, you know how to dance?"

"Kinda," she said, "I might have to rely on you a little bit."

"Works for me."

It turned out that the dancing was a lot faster and more exhilarating that what she had tried before, and Eva adored it. Two hours later, breathless and laughing, Sam took her to the bar and ordered them both strong drinks.

"We gotta do this more often," she panted, bending around a stitch in her side. She hadn't had this much exercise since tenth grade.

"I'll drink to that," said Sam, clinking his glass against hers.

A/N the chapter after this one is my favourite one so far I AM SO EXCITED