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levans44 · 1 year ago

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Apartment #3 - Chapter 2

pairing: steve rogers x undercover!reader

warnings: 18+ SMUT*, Neighbors to Friends to Lovers, lots of angst, heavy mutual pining, hurt/comfort, eventual smut/romance/fluff

summary: as an undercover agent at SHIELD, her newest assignment involves moving in across the hall from her target. she's strictly ordered to keep her distance—no personal contact besides the absolutely necessary. the only issue? her new target neighbor turns out to be Captain America.

excerpt:

Jessica Grace Parker December 4th, 1989 569 Leaman Place Apt. #3, Brooklyn, NY 11201 Registered Nurse NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital

It’s the undercover alias she’s been assigned as a member of SHIELD’s Special Operations unit. The mission objective was rather simple—monitor the target and report updates as necessary.

She’s gone undercover more than a dozen times, so it’s not the details of the assignment or the temporary relocation she’s concerned about.

It’s just that her target was well… more unusual than most.

author's note: an idea that's been living in my head ever since steve asked sharon for that cup of coffee in their apartment hallway. as a SHIELD agent, the reader's real name has been [REDACTED] to preserve anonymity.

masterlist

“That the last of everything?”

“Yup.” She grunts, unloading the last box of her belongings off the back of Thomas's truck and onto the sidewalk. She dusts off her hands, stepping back as her coworker closes the trunk and locks the vehicle.

“Should you even be here right now?” She murmurs, glancing around nervously, though there are no pedestrians around. This mission was, funnily enough, one of SHIELD’s most coveted. Very few people knew about its existence—aside for Nick Fury, only Thomas and a few other couple agents in special ops were in the loop.

“Eh, what Fury doesn’t know won’t kill him.” Thomas dismisses her with a flick of his wrist, sliding the shades off his face as he surveys the neighborhood. She follows suit, getting a good first look at her new home.

569 Leaman Place was located at a charming little street in Brooklyn Heights—idyllic brownstone row houses with red mahogany doors, bay windows, and black awnings. The entire area seemed like a welcome departure from her old neighborhood in Manhattan—low-rise architecture and narrower streets, lots of warm sun with lush greenery shielding the sidewalks. She could already envision herself sitting outside at one of the cute cafes around the block, sipping on an oat milk latte and spending a leisurely afternoon people-watching.

Yup, she wouldn’t mind living here for a while.

“How are you feeling about the assignment?”

Thomas’s question catches her off guard, breaking her out of her daydream as she glances up, squinting under the bright sunlight.

“What, you mean spying on a national hero? Not too psyched, to be honest.”

“Don’t forget he’s also technically your superior advisor.” He eyes her amusedly, helping her pick up the boxes off the sidewalk and up the stairs of the row house.

“Right.” She mutters, groaning a little at the reminder.

As soon as they drop off the last of the boxes at the entrance, Thomas's phone buzzes with a notification.

“I should be heading back. You want me to call someone to help with this?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Go take care of… whatever that is.”

Cut to half an hour later, when she’s panting and slugging up the stairs of her new apartment, lower back aching from the crushing weight of the box in her arms.

Good lord, maybe she should have thought twice about refusing help—with no elevator or AC, the four flights of stairs between the lobby and her unit seemed longer than a hike up Kilimanjaro.

She grunts, slamming the box down as soon as she reaches the fourth floor. The wooden floor creaks dangerously beneath her, and the sound of the ceiling fan in the hallway is almost deafeningly loud once she takes a second to catch her breath.

Guess some things are better from the outside.

She takes a proper look around the inside of the building—from the faded hardwood to the old carpeting, she’d guess that it was at least a century old.

Out of all the places to live in the city, Captain America chose this place?

She pushes the box away from the stairwell, dragging it across the straggly carpet into a corner. Wiping the sweat off her brow, she stands up, giving her back a much-needed stretch. Then, with a loud sigh, she begins turning around sluggishly, dreading the trip to retrieve the rest of her stuff downstairs, when a voice sounds from the top of the staircase.

“You alright?”

She swivels around, coming face to face with her mission target.

Her eyes flit over his tight compression shirt and a pair of grey sweats, a light sheen of sweat on his neck catching the dull lighting of the hallway as he tilts his head back for a sip of water.

“Hey.” A flash of blue as his eyes meet hers, giving her a nod and a smile. Polite, and a little stiff. Valid, given she was a stranger.

She blinks, reciprocating his greeting with a jaw that feels a little loose at the hinges. He takes another moment to survey her closely before his eyes suddenly grow, brows raising in what she can’t tell is realization or surprise. Her stomach tightens, panic seizing in her throat.

“Oh! Are you…”

The flight or fight instinct inside her flares up—could he really be recognizing her? Perhaps from a millisecond interaction at SHIELD headquarters? Maybe they had attended the same meeting? Passed each other in the lobby? Sat in close proximity during a press conference?

Shit, an hour into the mission? This must be some sort of record.

“…are you moving into that unit?” He sticks his head down the hall, gesturing to the second door on the right—the only one without a welcome mat out in front.

Faded, dark mahogany with the number 3 plated in dull gold.

Thank god.

“Yeah, yes, I am.” She nods, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

She notices the friendly smile that starts to bloom on his face, wide and warm, small lines crinkling the corners of cool blue eyes.

“Oh, that’s great, are you new to the neighborhood?”

“Yeah, I just moved from Midtown.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, considering how she did use to live in a SHIELD-commissioned studio apartment in Manhattan. God, she was dearly gonna miss that under-5-minute commute to work. Now she’d have to suffer through a 40 minute train ride every morning, wearing hospital scrubs she would have to change out of as soon as she got to her desk job at SHIELD.

He gives her another nod, holding eye contact for a curiously long time. Her eyes start to falter during the brief moment of silence when his brows raise in realization. He shifts his weight to his right foot, stepping forward, and flashes an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I’m Steve. I live just down the hall.” He gestures to the door across from hers, wiping his hand on the bottom of his shorts before extending it in greeting.

She glances down at his hand, blinking.

Out of all the details during this first encounter, she’s most surprised by the way he introduces himself—just Steve, an ordinary 30-something-year-old returning home after a run.

It strikes her, then, like whiplash.

To her, Steve was Captain America, someone she’s spent the last few days reading about tirelessly, nailing down every detail.

To Steve, she was just… a neighbor. Someone new to the neighborhood, moving in down the hall.

And with that reality finally sinking in, she accepts Steve’s hand, tentatively slipping her fingers into his palm.

Ah, the famous Captain America handshake.

It’s firm, warm, resolute—nothing short of what you’d expect from America’s hero. She thinks briefly of her friend from work, Thomas, who refused to wash his hands for two whole days after getting a handshake from the man standing in front of her.

Up until this point, Captain Amercia had been little more than a public figure for SHIELD—a glorified symbol of all the values her company supposedly stands behind.

Now, meeting Steve Rogers in the flesh, as he towers over her with his 6-foot-something frame, she starts to understand just why this man had been revered among family, friends, and coworkers alike.

(“He was more godly than, like, Thor, I swear.” Thomas had raved.)

“Jess.” She offers quietly, retracting her hand.

Ugh. Jess. Something about her new identity didn’t sound right. A little too doe-eyed, Zooey-Deschanel-esque for her liking, but perhaps even that had been an intentional move on Fury’s part.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jess.” Her fake name rolls off of Steve’s tongue so smoothly, slow and sweet, and she has to swallow down a sudden wave of nausea that hits the back of her throat.

Steve lingers, gaze flitting over to the messy array of boxes shoved into the corner behind her.

“Do you need help with your boxes? I noticed a few of ‘em were still downstairs.”

“Oh, I…” On one hand, she’s not sure if this would violate the whole ‘minimal contact’ clause of her mission assignment. But then again, her back feels like it’s seconds away from splitting in half, and how could she begin the mission if she can’t even move into her new place?

“It’s really no trouble, I promise.” Steve smiles reassuringly, as if sensing the conflict on her face. Misjudges her pause for polite hesitation.

“… thank you.” She manages to breathes out.

Steve nods, jogging down to the first floor and re-appearing up the stairs in a flash, carrying all of her remaining boxes up in one trip.

Jesus.

“Thank you for this, really.” She murmurs, shuffling down the hall to her door. She spares a quick sideways glance at Steve, who’s carrying four boxes at a time without so much as breaking a sweat. She’s barely keeping up with the smaller one in her arms, her bag hanging from her arm and her keys balanced precariously on top of the box.

When they reach apartment #3, she leans forward to set her things down, the keys slipping to the floor in the process.

“Shoot.” She mutters, face burning with embarrassment as she quickly bends down, but he’s quicker.

“I got it.”

And apparently superhuman power also mean superhuman reflexes, because he’s down at the floor picking up her keychain before she even has the chance to blink.

“… here.”

There’s a slight pause in his movements when he hands her back her keys, and when her eyes trail down to what’s in his hand, she immediately understands why.

A shiny Captain America shield keychain sticks out from the rest of the dull array of metal—the red, white, and blue plastic of honor hanging proudly from his fingertips.

It was a sick little joke played by the tiny group of people in her department that knew about her new gig—‘a good luck charm!’ Thomas had taunted. She had rolled her eyes, adding it to her keychain jokingly, and meant to take it off long before she was set to relocate to Brooklyn.

She feels her entire face burn a deep crimson as she tries to remain poker-faced, clearing her throat as she takes the keys from his hand and hastily shoves it through the door.

“Just… y-you can just set those down anywhere, thanks.”

She steps aside for Steve to walk in, gripping at the doorframe as she makes a mental note burn the keychain into next week, alongside Thomas and the rest of her coworkers.

By the time Steve sets down the last of her belongings in the middle of her empty living room, her cheeks are still flushed ripe with embarrassment.

“Thank you for your help, really.” She gives him a polite smile at the door, unable to make full eye contact.

“No worries, let me know if you need anything else.” He smiles, and she finds the tiniest piece of respite in noticing that if he had seen what was on her keychain (which was virtually inevitable given the circumstances), he didn’t seem at all bothered.

“… well, I’ll see you around Jess.” He smiles, giving her a small wave.

“Yeah, you too.” She nods, trying to conceal the tight lines around her lips. Steve steps back in the direction of his apartment, fishing out his keys from his pocket. She starts to turn around, fingers trembling with the details of her first encounter with Captain America, when she hears his voice calls out again from across the hall.

“Oh, I almost forgot…”

Shit, what?

When she turns back around, he’s leaned against the faded doorway of apartment #4, flashing her a charming smile—classic all-American, pearly-whites and all.

“…welcome to the building.”

Apartment #3 Masterlist

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