'This will be easy,' I encourage myself. 'You just have to smile and give him and/or her the plate... Well, you should probably also say 'hello' or something like 'welcome' might be nice... Why in the world didn't I figure out what I was going to say before now?' I sigh a bit dramatically. People really aren't my thing. New people that I've never even met, let alone seen are like Lego assembly instructions for a thousand piece Millennium Falcon set...without the pictures- in other words: an impossible task.

But this is something I can do.

'Just be friendly. They might need it...or they might be a drug dealer who would gladly kill you in a horrific and gruesome manner and dump your remains in a tub of acid. Okay. No more 'Criminal Minds' for me for a while.

'It's not like I'll have to ever interact with this person again, I mean, we only live right across the hallway from each other now. So if I make a complete idiot of myself, as per the norm, then this totally won't result in a perpetually awkward situation for me. Right. I totally believe myself.

'Oh, just shut up and knock on the door, you overgrown flower! It's Saturday afternoon, there's probably no one home anyway! Who would be locked up in their apartment on a day like this? Well, I would, but most people would probably have plans.

'True.

'I suppose that makes me feel a bit better. And at least this way I can say that I tried and then I can eat all of these cookies myself. Excellent plan, I approve.'

With a newfound confidence, I rap soundly on the door in front of me. I count to ten. Still no answer. Well, I guess this means that I can gorge myself and have a Doctor Who marathon this afternoon. I suppose there are some selfish benefits to being unselfish.

As I start to step away from the door to return to my apartment, I hear something that immediately fills me with dread- the chain lock of my new neighbor's door is sliding open. My gaze drops to the plate in my hands as I hurriedly force a smile, hoping I don't look as sick as I suddenly feel. The dark brown door slowly swings open.

"Hi, I-," I start trying to introduce myself, but I don't make it very far as I look up at the stranger before me.

'Leaping leptons!'

This guy is clearly a model. He's probably about twenty-five and he's, well, perfectly symmetrical for starters. At 5' 5" I'm exactly average for a woman (yes, I've googled it), but this guy is head and shoulders above me and speaking of shoulders, his fill the doorframe. His sandy blond hair is neatly combed to the side and his clear blue eyes are looking down at me in polite patience.

'Oh, yeah. I was saying something, wasn't I?' I'm not off to a great start.

"I-I'm your neighbor from across the hall." I hook a thumb over my shoulder towards my front door. "I brought you cookies!" I raise the plate as obvious proof. Apparently I'm five.

'Sound like an adult, I know you can. You know, maybe.'

"As a w-welcome to the building...sort of thing," I continue as I give him a shaky smile. His prettiness is certainly not helping my social anxiety. "Mrs. Finkle, the lady that lived here before you, she brought me homemade cookies when I moved in a couple weeks ago. I-I thought, I mean, it made me feel welcome and like I had a friend in this building and city, for that matter. I guess I just figured, well, it seems like the neighborly thing to do."

'Oh my gosh. Stop. Rambling!'

During my verbal diarrhea I had shifted my gaze from his eyes to a point over his shoulder. I have trouble maintaining eye contact. But as my spew of gibberish comes to an end, I glance back to his face.

His eyebrows have risen in amused confusion and a small, kind smile has slipped onto his face. He must think I'm an idiot. I then realize something with a bit of disappointment.

"But you probably don't eat cookies, huh?"

This seems to confuse him further.

"'Cause, I mean-" I gesture to his frame. "You're so..."

'Sculpted? Yummy?'

"Fit," I finally spit out a fairly safe word, blinking uncomfortably.

'What? What are you saying? Are you completely bonkers? You're being an absolute creep!"

I drop my eyes to the plate again.

"They're chocolate chip, it seemed like a safe choice. They aren't as good as Mrs. Finkle's, I'm afraid. She never would share her recipe. But I can guarantee you with about 89% certainty that these will not give you food poisoning."

I hear a soft chuckle and hazard a look back up to his face to see his smile grow to a grin. I feel myself relax and smile back, much to my astonishment. He reaches out to take the plate from me.

He finally says something. His voice is smooth and calm and confident. Everything I'm not. "Thank you, Miss...?" he trails off and I realize that I completely forgot to tell him my name. How friendly of me.

My face burns as I answer, "I'm so sorry, my name's Anne Johnson."

"It's nice to meet you, Miss Johnson. I'm Steve Rogers, but please, call me Steve."

'Steve Rogers? Oh my gosh. Mr. Rogers. I am finally Mr. Rogers' neighbor. I think seven-year-old me would be quite proud. Lifelong goal - check!'

He holds out his hand with an easy friendliness. Clearly the awkwardness of this encounter is entirely one-sided.

I grip his warm hand. He has a nice handshake: firm, but gentle. "Nice to meet you too, Steve. And please call me Anne. I'm not exactly 'Miss' material."

"I disagree," he says as he pulls his hand back, still smiling. "But I'll call you Anne if you'd prefer it."

'This guy is either a player, or *gasp* an actual, living, breathing gentleman!'

"Thank you, Steve."

There's a small pause as I try to figure out how I can escape back to the comfort of my room without being terribly rude to this kind, new semi-acquaintance I've made.

"Well, if you need any help trying to work the washers and dryers in the basement, just let me know. Or- you know, if you just have questions or something feel free to ask me."

'Shh! You're being a clingy creep! Back off and run away!'

Unfortunately, this tends to be standard for me. I either act 'natural' and come across as arrogant and grumpy when I'm really just painfully shy or I try too hard to be friendly and come across as completely desperate and moderately insane.

My forehead scrunches up as I give a pained smile in the vivid awareness of my uncomfortable creepiness.

"Okaybye!" I quickly shove the words out before whirling around to my sanctuary.

"Have a good day, ma'am," Steve replies evenly to my fleeing back.

As I close the door behind me, I groan in frustration. "Yet another successful interaction with a fellow human. Well done, well done."

≈o≈

It's been a week since I had humiliated myself in front of my dreamy neighbor. I may or may not have been trying to avoid seeing him in the hallway. If I was trying (and I'm not saying that that's what I was doing) I was quite successful.

Stealth level: Ninja.

It was Saturday again, as tends to happen when the Earth continues to rotate on its axis, and I was in the middle of my new book; comfortably curled upon my cozy chair. Belated warning: I occasionally slip into alliteration. Sipping my chocolate milk, I'm completely lost in the story when I hear a strong knock on my door. I immediately become confused.

'I don't have friends. Who would be at the door? The police? Have I committed some felony unawares? I suppose it isn't impossible and, sadly, it's a much more likely scenario than it being some forgotten friend of mine.'

A second knock brings me to my senses. I suppose I should answer it.

Gently setting my book aside, bookmark tucked neatly within, I rush to the door with more than a little agitation.

After opening the door, I'm confused again. Also surprised and a little sick.

"Steve?"

The dashing man before me smiles warmly. "Hello Anne."

"Um, hi." My eyes get a little darty as he seems to only ever look people straight in the eye. I swallow thickly; my mouth is suddenly dry.

"I've brought your dish back." He offers me my plastic, purple plate, obviously washed.

"Oh." I had meant to tell him that he could just keep it. It was from the dollar store after all. But I had forgotten all about it and maybe purple wasn't his color anyway.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I actually tried to give it to you earlier this week, but you weren't in."

"Yeah, my hours at work are a little...wonky." I cringe at my word choice. I work in a nearby public library as a librarian's assistant and I teach free computer classes there a couple of nights a week.

I realize that I haven't taken the plate from him yet.

"Thanks," I say softly as I grab the dish from his outstretched hand.

"I should be thanking you. I don't know how good Mrs. Finkle's cookies may have been, but those were delicious." He grins politely.

"Oh... I'm glad you liked them. I'd be happy to bake you some more sometime."

'No, no. You're overcompensating again. Calm down.'

"I'd like that."

'What? Well, he is a guy. Aren't they like, all for freak for free food?'

"Oh." I'm apparently stuck on repeat. "Well, good then."

Steve tugs lightly on his fitted blue t-shirt. "Have a good day ma'am. I'll see you soon." He nods in farewell before he turns and walks away, down the hall.

Normally, someone being so friendly towards me would make me incredibly uncomfortable. But there's something about Steve that just feels so genuinely, platonically innocuous that I find myself only moderately uncomfortable. Hm. This unexpected reaction will require further analysis before I can reach any sort of firm conclusion on the matter.

----------------------------------------------

Well, that's the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think, especially if you see one of the Marvel characters acting, well, out of character. Can't have anyone misbehaving. Except perhaps for Tony.

Just a reminder that in this AU, Steve's identity as Captain America has been kept secret from the public - at least for now - because it makes sense to me and it's also convenient for my plot. :)