Present Day – Avngers Compound

"Now… technically," Bucky says, voice low, rough with something softer than usual, "I still owe you a dance."

You arch a brow, leaning just enough to meet his gaze head-on. "I mean, there's no ‘technically’ about it. A debt is owed." (©TRS0525CAI)

That smile—small, half a breath from breaking—is just for you. “Come here…”

He doesn’t ask. He never really had to.

Your hand fits into his like it always has—like it remembers a thousand moments the rest of the world forgot. And as he pulls you into him, gently, reverently, it’s not the polished floors of the Compound you see anymore.

It’s snow. Smoke. The sharp edges of goodbye that never felt finished.

Flashback – January 1945, Alpine Woods Outside Austria

“You ready?”

Your voice cuts through the icy morning air, a quiet thing trying to sound brave. Bucky's hands are gloved, but you can still see the way they tighten around his rifle strap. He turns just slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching up in that lazy, boyish way that always made you forget there was a war going on.

“’Bout as ready as I ever am for these missions,” he mutters. Then adds, like he’s trying to convince both of you, “We’ve pulled off worse.”

You nod once. “We’ll be fine. It’s always fine.”

“Mm.” He hums, but it’s not agreement. More like… ritual. And then he does that thing—steps in close, the world narrowing to just the space between you.

“Come on,” he says, his eyes tracing over your face like he’s trying to memorize it. “One last dance?”

Your hand lifts between you, rests lightly on his chest, right over the beat of a heart that’s always run a little too fast. “Save it for when you get back,” you whisper. “It’s something we can look forward to.”

Bucky exhales through his nose. “I’ll be back before you know it, doll.”

You grab his coat collar and tug him close, ignoring the sharp cold of the morning or the ache starting in your chest. “Make sure you bring yourself home to me, James Buchanan Barnes.”

His smile falters, but his hands settle at your waist like it’s the only place they were ever meant to be.

You lean up and kiss him—just once, just enough—and then press your forehead to his. “I love you.”

He closes his eyes like it physically hurts to hear it, like holding that promise is heavier than any gun in his hands.

“I love you too.”

And then he’s gone.

Present Day – Avngers Compound

The room’s quiet now. Everyone else has long gone to bed or drifted away into their own distractions. But not you.

Not him.

The overhead lights are dimmed, just enough to let the soft amber glow from the sconces stretch shadows across the floor. Bucky shifts his weight like he’s standing at the edge of a battlefield, not a dance floor.

You watch him. Watch the way his left hand twitches like it still doesn’t trust itself with delicate things.

“Buck,” you murmur, holding out your hand. “We’ve waited long enough.”

His lips part like he might say something, might argue the way he always used to. But instead, he steps forward and takes your hand in his—flesh and metal, warm and cool. Just like him.

He doesn’t lead with words. He never did.

He leads with his heart.

Your free hand finds his shoulder, and his other finds your waist, and then—then you’re moving. Slowly. As if neither of you is sure this isn’t a dream Hydra will rip away again.

There’s no music playing, but you both hear it. That phantom waltz playing in your bones. The one that’s haunted your memories, waiting to be danced.

He exhales against your temple, and it sounds like a prayer.

“You know,” he says after a while, voice low and scratchy, “I used to dream about this. Back when they had me on ice. I’d be halfway through a nightmare, and then—boom—there you were. Some smoky little vision telling me to hurry up and come home.”

You smile into his chest. “Guess I was stubborn even in your subconscious.”

He laughs. It's soft. Crooked. Broken in places. “You always were.”