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Pepper is standing next to Steve, holding a flute of champagne close to her lips. “Tell me I'm hallucinating. Is this really happening?”
Steve nods solemnly, side-eyeing Pepper as she downs her glass. “Afraid so,” he tells her, watching the trainwreck unfold on stage.
It’d be hilarious, really, if it weren't for Tony’s loosened tie and button-down that showcased this fuzzy chest. Or for the way Thor stood behind Tony — hair slicked back into a bun — swaying back-and-forth with a bottle of beer raised in one hand.
"Don't stop believing! Hold onto to that feeling," Tony croons into the microphone, laughter rippling through the audience as they watch Iron Man himself drunkenly serenade this gala filled with SHIELD donors.
Beside him, Pepper pinches the bridge of her nose. Even with SHIELD’s newest graces, they were still pulling for funds two years after D.C. Steve winces when Thor’s boisterous voice comes in for the next verse, booming so loudly that he sees Jane plug her ears from across the room.
Coulson is going to have words about this. Steve thinks Tony might not mind, though, given how Pepper is staring at him.
The room goes quiet a moment later with a sharp tick of static. Bruce and Darcy come from behind the stage, handfuls of wire under their arm, and wave apologetically. From the speakers above, a soft song — as far removed from Journey as possible — floats through the hall.
"Sorry," Darcy calls, dragging Bruce to the hallway. "Carry on."
Pepper is gone now, heels clicking as she makes her way to Tony whose now stumbling off stage…and being carried on Thor’s massive shoulders. Steve takes a sip of his own drink, smirking into the rim of the glass.
"I gotta’ say, Steve," a familiar voice says from behind him. "I’m glad I’m not Rhodey. Warn me if you ever try to pull something like that," Sam continues. Steve shakes his head, eyeing the silver cufflinks of Sam’s suit that have tiny birds engraved on them.
"Couldn’t do that even if I wanted to," Steve answers. He stares at Sam for a moment, biting the question on his tongue, but he fails miserably. After all, Sam’s been on the field more recently than any of the other team members. He might have heard something.
Steve clears his throat. “You hear anything about..?”
Sam dips his head. “No, sorry, man. I got nothing.”
The disappoint churns through his gut, but Steve is used to the linger feeling by now. However, that roiling only rises when a women walks up to him, batting her long eyelashes like something was caught in her eye.
He gulps. Steve knows the weird ways of ’21st Century Flirtation’ like he knows the front of his shield. And this woman, smelling of old money, has found her latest victim in him.
Sam stifles a laugh behind him before disappearing with a cupcake and some of the punch Clint had spiked earlier.
Traitor.
"Would you like to dance," the woman asks once she stands in front of Steve. Her hand is held out for him to take, and the glittering diamonds on her bracelet distract his attention.
Tumbling over his tongue, Steve searches for words. “I, well, you see…”
"This dance is taken."
Steve ignores the fallen look on the woman’s face at the voice. How could he not when he’s been hearing that voice in his ear all this time?
Who the hell is Bucky?
Moving closer, Steve looks his friend up-and-down, taking in the closely tailored suit hugging Bucky’s broad chest. The jacket tapers at his waist, highlight the dipped curve of his hip, and Steve has to force his eyes back to Bucky’s face in the end.
Holding out his left-hand — metal hidden by a smooth, leather glove — Bucky raises an eyebrow at Steve’s gaping jaw.
"You coming?"
Steve’s lips thin. He steps closer, reaching for Bucky’s hand and pulling him closer like he’s dreamt of doing for years. “You need to go. They know you’re here,” Steve says, looking around the room and already catching Natasha’s careful eye upon them.
Bucky snorts. “Who cares?”
Steve’s hand tightens around Bucky’s arm. “You should. Buck, it’s been ages, and now you decide to come out of the woodwork? This room is crawling with agents.”
Shrugging, Bucky tries to pull Steve towards the floor. “So? I’d like to see them come at me,” he jokes, but Steve can hear the hard undertone of his words.
He digs his heels into the floor. “Why did you come here,” Steve asks. “Why now?”
"Maybe there’s more than one reason," Bucky answers after a moment. His eyes are on Steve, tracing over every plane and curve of his face. "But, for now, it’s as simple as this."
Steve narrows his eyes. “As what?”
When Bucky smiles, Steve’s heart races. It’s been nearly a century since he’s seen such a perfect sight.
"Well, somebody has gotta' teach you how to dance," Bucky answers. From across the room, the song switches to a smooth jazz number that Steve remembers from Brooklyn. The track is throaty, muzzled deep with a slow string quartet that highlights the singer’s warbling voice.
Bucky tugs on Steve’s hand, stepping backwards into the swaying crowd.
And, with a careful step, Steve follows.