Ch. 9
Steve woke up the next morning to a soft knocking on the adjoining door of his room. He looked up at the alarm clock on the small night stand next to his bed. It was a quarter till eight in the morning. He groaned when he saw the time.
They had been out late the night before, not even arriving at the restaurant until nearly ten at night. After already spending a week in Buenos Aires, he should have been used to the tradition of having late dinners, but truth be told, he was usually starving by six p.m. When their food had finally arrived, he had devoured the steak that Alma had suggested. He had to hand it to her; the food had been superb.
He got out of bed and padded over to the door in bare feet, opening it before Alma could knock again. She was still wearing the clothes from the night before, her hair back in a high ponytail. In her hand was a paper cup of coffee and a brown paper bag.
"Good morning. Since you paid for dinner last night, I thought I'd cover breakfast."
"Come in," he mumbled as he took the coffee and the bag from her and walked over to the table. He sat at the lone chair at the table while she sat at the edge of his bed. "Thanks for breakfast. What are these, croissants?" he asked as he peered in the bag.
"They're called medialunas. They're a bit sweeter than a croissants. They're heavenly."
Steve wasn't that hungry given their late dinner, but he couldn't help but grin as he sank his teeth into the first pastry. Before he knew it, he had finished it. He looked in the bag and saw that there were two more.
"I'm sorry. Do you want one?" he asked, feeling chagrined that he hadn't asked before.
Alma gave him a quick smile. "I already ate three of them. And had two coffees."
They sat in silence for a moment as Steve drank his coffee and ate his breakfast.
"So," Alma finally began. "I called a guy I know. Best forger in Buenos Aires. If we're going to have you go in undercover, we'll have to dummy up a good background. If we had S.H.I.E.L.D. resources, it'd take fifteen minutes. As it is, we'll need the better part of a day."
Steve nodded before taking a sip of his coffee. He'd never gone on an undercover assignment before. His main responsibilities had been leading raids and rescue attempts for S.H.I.E.L.D. However, he'd worked with Natasha for over a year and he was familiar with some of the basics.
"So how many shirts do you have with you? And sweaters?" Alma asked.
"Um . . . . I don't know. I think . . . four shirts, this sweatshirt and a sweater," he said vaguely.
"Alright, well, we'll need take several photos and you'll need to look different in each of them. I'm going to go buy some dark brown hair dye, some clippers and a pair of glasses while you finish up breakfast and get dressed," she said, waving at Steve in the sweats he had slept in.
"Sounds good," Steve said.
"Then, we've got a ten-thirty meeting with the forger and after that we'll need some clothes for tonight," Alma said briskly, rising from the bed.
"Looks like you got this all under control," Steve said as he took another bite out of his medialuna.
"I sure hope so," Alma said with a shrug as she walked out the door.
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Alma returned about forty-five minutes later with the supplies. Steve had taken a shower and changed into jeans and a navy T-shirt while she was gone.
"First, we should dye your hair and beard. We should probably get your eyebrows, too. Then, we'll start taking some photos for the fake i.d.," Alma explained.
"And the clippers?" Steve asked suspiciously.
"As we go along, I'm going to cut your hair progressive shorter, your beard, too. Just to give you a new look for the photos. It'd look a bit odd to have your hair the same length in all the photos."
"Exactly how short?"
Alma shrugged. "We'll probably end up with a buzzcut. It'll be a completely different look for you."
"Alright," Steve said hesitantly, not looking forward to it.
"Are you telling me that Captain America is vain? Don't worry, Rogers, I'm sure you'll still look gorgeous," Alma said dryly.
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Steve had never colored his hair before, so Alma helped him out. It felt strangely intimate to have her massage his scalp with the dye, delicately apply it to his eyebrows and caress his chin to cover his burgeoning beard with the thick liquid. He tried to focus on the mission, mentally rehearse their plan, but the bathroom felt too small for the both of them and he was distracted by her nearness.
For some reason, he flashed back to the kiss he had shared with Natasha. She had asked him later if it had been his first kiss since the 40s and he'd said no, which was the truth. However, there had only been one other kiss.
Steve had been visiting Stark Tower during the rebuliding process. When he left, he saw a fan dressed in an impressive Captain America costume waiting near the entrance*. When he had complimented her outfit, her eyes flew wide when she recognized him and she begged to take a photo with him. He said yes, overwhelmed by her timid sweetness. After the photo, she had shyly asked for a kiss. He had been rather flattered and quite willing to oblige her.
Steve had been more than a little disappointed that his lovely neighbor had turned out to be an undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. agent sent to spy on him. Despite Natasha's best attempts, he hadn't really invested any time trying to develop a social life. But now, with Alma mere inches from him, he was acutely aware of how isolated he'd been, how he had cut himself off from human contact.
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Once all of the dye had been applied, they waited for the timer on Alma's phone to go off. Steve wore a towel around his shoulders as he sat idly on the bed, feeling a bit ridiculous.
"So . . . . have you had to do this a lot for undercover work?" he asked.
"I've had to dye my hair from time to time, but I generally prefer wigs. If had to color my hair for every assignment, it'd end up looking like straw after a while."
Steve nodded.
"Um . . . I'll be back in a few minutes, just knock on the door when it buzzes," Alma instructed before heading to her room.
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Alma closed the door behind her, taking a shaky breath. She leaned against the door, her emotions warring inside her. Part of her still hated Rogers vehemently for what he did, for the all wreckage and devastation that he had caused, the destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D., the only home she had ever really known. Part of her hated the fact that she was helping him, that she let herself get swayed by desperation and greed to work on his behalf.
But, worst of all, a part of her was realizing that he wasn't the callous monster she had thought him to be. And that hurt the most. The fact that he was a decent human being. That he was good, noble even. That he cared for his friends. That he honestly thought he was doing the right thing when he had leaked all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s information.
It had been a lot easier just to hate him.
Author's Note- *For those of you who watched Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., there is a great line of dialogue in the pilot episode about cosplayers hanging out in front of Stark Tower. By the way, for those of you who cosplay, you rock! I've seen some amazing costumes in my time and the dedication that you have to create those outfits is stunning!