The bar was practically bursting at the seams, a joyous roar echoing off the walls. It was V-Day, and the city was alive with a frenetic energy. Bucky, Steve, and the rest of their unit had managed to snag a corner table, a precarious island in the sea of celebrating bodies. Beer flowed freely, and every toast was met with a hearty cheer. Amidst the revelry, Bucky's gaze landed on you across the room. You were laughing, throwing your head back with unrestrained joy, surrounded by friends. There was an infectious happiness about you that drew him in, a beacon in the jubilant chaos. He nudged Steve, tilting his head subtly in your direction. "See her over there, Stevie?" he asked, his eyes lingering on the way the light caught in your hair. "She looks like the kind of dame who knows exactly what we're celebrating tonight, you know? Like she feels it."

Steve followed his gaze, a thoughtful expression on his face. "She does look happy, Buck. Everyone's in high spirits tonight, though. Hard not to be, with the Krauts finally throwin' in the towel." He took a long swig of his beer, his eyes scanning the jubilant crowd. "You thinkin' of goin' over there, pal?" he asked, a familiar knowing glint in his eyes. He'd seen that look on Bucky's face before, that flicker of interest that usually meant trouble – good trouble, mostly.

Bucky shrugged, trying to play it cool, though a grin was threatening to break through. "Maybe. Just observin', ya know? She's got a real spark about her. Makes a guy wonder what her story is." He watched as you said something to your friends, eliciting another round of laughter. "She's a looker, that's for sure. But it's more than that, ya dig? There's somethin' else there." He leaned back in his chair, his gaze still drifting your way. "Besides," he added with a playful nudge to Steve's arm, "ain't nothin' wrong with a little recon, right?"

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "Recon, huh? Last time you went on 'recon,' you ended up learnin' how to jitterbug." He grinned, remembering the slightly disastrous but ultimately hilarious outcome of Bucky's last attempt at charming a girl on the dance floor. "Just don't go steppin' on her toes, Buck. Tonight's a night for celebratin', not for bruised feet."

Bucky just winked, a confident smirk finally breaking through. "Relax, pal. I've learned a thing or two since then. Besides," he said, his eyes locking on yours for a fleeting moment as you glanced in their direction, "some dames appreciate a guy with a little... enthusiasm." He pushed himself to his feet, a newfound determination in his stride. "Alright, Stevie," he murmured, adjusting his jacket. "Time to see if that spark I saw from over here is the real McCoy."

He weaved his way through the crowded tables, a confident swagger in his step that had served him well more times than he could count. As he approached your group, he offered a disarming smile, his eyes meeting yours directly. "Evening, ladies," he said, his voice smooth and easy over the din of the bar. "Hope you're all celebratin' as much as we are. Wouldn't want this party to end."

He focused his attention on you, his gaze warm and appreciative. "I couldn't help but notice you over here," he continued, his voice dropping a touch, "and I figured a smile like yours shouldn't be kept all to yourselves on a night like this. Name's James," he offered, extending a hand with that familiar, easy charm. A playful glint entered his eyes. "But my friends, and especially pretty dames like yourself, call me Bucky."