Eleven years. Eleven years between James and Natasha. That felt much safer than the probable decades between him and Jefferson and everyone else. Although, truth told, James wasn't even sure how old he actually was. It wasn't like HYDRA was big on dates and sharing them with operatives. In fact, James counted it as kind of a win that he could even remember his birth year.
"If you wanted to come, sure," he said, pulling her into the dance. He remembered this usually went better with music, but they didn't exactly have a record player, that James knew of. "Maybe they can rig us up some music, too." Worth a shot, right?
When he'd first remembered, the motions had been jerky. Nothing smooth and flowing and active. Just disjointed and messy. But now, as he was growing more confident, the dance shaped up into something sturdier and stronger. And the smile he'd been missing for a long time flickered briefly across his face.