Author's Note: It has been a VERY long time since I've written anything for the site...please post reviews because I love comments! I'd been searching for a Captain America love story that I would really enjoy, and I haven't found very many. I love slash stories...but Cap seems like Mr. Right to me. I'd love to see Mr. Right fall in love with a woman. This story is rated Mature for chapters yet to come, it takes place in the movie verse and Agent Jones is my own creation, though her grandfather is not. Enjoy!

Summary: She never expected to ever actually meet him, and he never expected loving her would be so hard when she finally did. SHIELD Agent Jones has been assigned her most difficult mission ever in helping Captain America adjust to the present, and she wants to keep her past hidden from him by staying professional. But as Cap adapts, he realizes he doesn't care about her plan when he has feelings for her. How will their relationship progress?

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN MARVEL, OR HE AVENGERS, BUT THE PLOT OF THIS STORY IS MINE. :)

Prologue

The moonlight floods the bedroom with butterflies and princess crowns painted on the pink walls and the shadows protect me and my hiding place under the bed. I hear the screams and thuds and things being thrown around in the next room, causing my small body to shake so violently with fear that my pounding heartbeats hurt my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut as tight as they will go, placing my hand on the wall next to me that I've backed up against.

As I disassociate, my reality suddenly changes. My mother's screams slowly fade away, and the noises I'm hearing from the other room now match different actions. The loud thud is now Captain America kicking in the door. The bangs against the walls are the punches Cap throws into my father's face and his gut. The slams I hear are nothing more than Cap's sturdy boots kicking him when he's down. All the glass repeatedly shattering is from his shield ricocheting off numerous objects into my dad's body.

In this reality, those footfalls making their way toward my childhood bedroom belong to the Star Spangled Man coming to save me. As I hear the door open, I peak through my small eyes and raise a hand to touch the secret poster of my savior, hidden away under my bed. His bright smile warms the tears streaming down my face and I can almost smile…until a large hand roughly snatches me from my safe place under my bed.

I always jump awake from the reoccurring nightmare at that moment. My eyes fly open scanning the room for threats and I'm gasping deeply for air. My heart is beating just as hard as it did that night years ago. I immediately grip the gun hidden away under my pillow, years of training taking over my actions as panic and anxiety cloud my mind. I must gain control again. I feel the beads of sweat dripping down my back from the fitful sleep, as the tears I would never dare let fall temporarily cloud my vision. A few controlled breaths later, and the attack is starting to subside.

My poised trigger finger relaxes, and I return my gun to its rightful hiding place. I look around my living quarters as my heart beat slows, listing everything about it till I'm calm as I usually do when I have night terrors. The room is gray. No windows, two doors, one for entry and the other to the bathroom. One couch, one bed, two pillows, one computer desk, one chair, one computer. One light. I sighed, feeling normal again. "And one person," I finished aloud, completing my list.

I walk into the bathroom and begin the ritual of splashing water in my face to wash away the bad dreams. It never really works. The digital clock reads 3:44 in the morning, and I roll my eyes accepting I won't be returning to sleep anytime soon. I walk over to my computer and start it up. I login to my personal diary files, and began to record.

Entry #1,026

S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent number 5498-5870

March 4, 2011.

The time is 48 minutes past 03:00 hours. Tonight, it was pretty much the same dream…almost no variations. Except…this time…I remembered touching the poster…the feeling of the words under my fingers…reaching out for it as if it would make him become real somehow.

My mind starts to wonder as I remember the fading shades of red, white, and blue on the poster. I shake my head and quickly bring myself back to the present.

I wake from the dream the same way. In a cold sweat, a racing heart rate, and gasping for air. The dream has been occurring more often lately, and I have no idea what it means. Since sleep is no longer an option for tonight, I'm headed to the gym for extra training time.

Agent 5498-5870, signing out.

I ended the recording right as a knock sounded at my door.

"Requesting permission to enter, ma'am?"

I straightened myself in the desk chair. "Permission granted."

A nervous officer stepped into my room with diverted eyes, and I could tell that she was scared because she thought she'd woken me up. My eyes must have been kind, because she visibly relaxed just a tad when we made eye contact. Kind eyes almost never happen. She was definitely one of the newer officers, but of them all she was the most tolerable.

"You've been assigned an urgent mission, and your plane departs in an hour ma'am."

I scoffed disapprovingly. "I don't know if Agent Coulson notified you Officer Dayton, but I'm on leave for the next 40 hours."

"I understand, ma'am. But you were specially requested for this mission. You've receive your mission briefing on the Quinjet."

I sighed heavily, a little grateful that I was already awake and almost completely dressed for a mission before she knocked on my door. Still, it didn't mean that I had to be happy about it.

"And just who will be briefing on this urgent mission? Agent Romanoff? No, she's currently on assignment keeping her cover intact at Stark Industries...who does that leave? Barton? He's in the desert with Selvig…so who does that leave, Coulson?" I turned away from her mumbling to myself, digging through my dresser noisily because I didn't want to go.

"Actually I am." A male voice answered, and I knew the voice immediately. Director Fury. "And we don't have a lot of time. Let's move out." He said promptly before exiting in that 'I mean business' manner that only he can do.

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