Chapter Text
“Do I look foolish enough to trust you?” Tony spat, his eyes holding their ground in the stand off.
“I’ll let you in on a secret, Mr Stark... I don’t trust myself either.” Rogers stood up from the interrogation table whilst sliding his jacket onto his muscular shoulders in one smooth movement, “But my word is all you have. Good day, Officer.”
The harsh lighting caused the gang leader’s swollen cheekbone to glisten as he rose from the table and left. The image of the criminal’s ruffled blond hair that feathered over his forehead would stay with Tony for longer than he thought would be necessary.
The door clicked closed behind the man and Tony allowed himself to drop his head against the table, disheartened. After over 6 months of tracking the gang leader, the detective was still no closer to an arrest and Steve Rogers seemed to know that.
He huffed out a breath of frustrated air and gathered the documents that had managed to spread the full length and breath of the cold metal table. It seemed like so much evidence against the violence-driving and drug-producing criminal but somehow Steve managed to make everything seem merely circumstantial and Tony knew that would not fly in a court of law. The man had good lawyers that seemed to make every case crumble.
His commanding officer was going to absolutely murder him since, once again, he’d been unable to capture one of the most dangerous men in the whole of New York. Sighing, he finished gathering his things and paced out to his Boss’s office ready for a dressing down. Tony only hoped that Captain Fury would go easy on him considering he would be beating himself up over this for weeks.
Fury was disappointed in the result but seemed to dismiss it quickly which left Stark curious to what the man had up his sleeve. It was rare that Nick just let something slide. He lowered himself into one of the large chairs that sat adjacent to the mahogany desk which was littered with paperwork. Tony’s curiosity burned within him as he saw Captain Fury pull a case file out of a drawer on the desk. He didn’t wait long until it was revealed:
“Stark, the top brass are demanding more progress on the Rogers case. We need to start acting offensively in our evidence building. I need you to go undercover in a coffee shop close to Rogers’ hide out to try and get some more intel. At this point, any piece of information would help.” He passed the file across. It had details of Tony’s undercover identity and the coffee store he was to pose in.
Tony could think of one problem, “Rogers has seen my face... several times. He knows me.”
“Yes, but his affiliates haven’t and what is the likelihood of a mob boss collecting his own drinks?” Fury challenged and Tony had to admit that it was a logical argument, “Besides, nobody in the precinct knows Rogers and his operation like you.”
Tony nodded, “I’m on it.”
Striding back to his desk, Tony was already thinking of the challenges that would lay in store over the next few weeks. He really wanted Steve and knew that anything to get more information would help.
———
A week later-
Somewhere over the last two days, Tony had had the violent epiphany that he was not made for the barista lifestyle; he’d burnt himself more times than he could count, got orders mixed up and even tripped and thrown close to boiling water over his boss. Luckily for him, being a barista didn’t have to be his calling but it was the calling of his fake identity, Marvin Short, and he’d donned glasses, worn a wig and shaved his goatee especially. Hopefully, the burns and general fuck ups wouldn’t give away his total inadequacy.
The coffee place was nice though, he had to admit that. It was warm and cosy inside which was perfect in comparison to the drizzly gray weather he could see through their large bay windows. Even in his short time here, he’d managed to pick a table in the window as his favorite and that wasn’t just because it gave him a view down the street of Rogers’ warehouse building. Why did all criminals choose warehouses?
He passed a (probably wrong) latte across the counter to a woman in a business suit before sliding back up to the cash register. He allowed himself a second to wipe the counter before glancing up at the customer to get their order.
Looking up, he was about to open with his usual “Hi, what can I get you?” When his voice suddenly lodged itself in his throat.
Steve Rogers, gang leader and object of his stake out, was standing in front of him looking completely unphased. His blond hair was ruffled from the wind outside and flopped over his forehead as though it was a curtain for his striking blue eyes. The lighting of the coffee was several times more flattering than the ones found in the interrogation room. Tony tried to snap himself out of it as the man had begun to speak.
“Hi, just the usual. Black Americano. Thanks.” The man has placed his order and handed the cash (who still used cash?) across without even looking up at the barista, clearly absorbed in some other thoughts.
“Name?” Tony asked, a sharpie hovering over the unblemished surface of the cup.
“Just Steve.” The man answered and moved again to join the queue of people waiting for their drinks.
The steaming cup was done in record time and he’d taken extra care to ensure it was exactly right since this was the man he was trying to fool with his masquerade. Carefully, he placed the Americano down and slid it across whilst trying extraordinarily hard not to spill it. He coughed and lowered his voice to call, “Americano for Steve!”
The man came immediately and his hand was almost on the cup when Tony, maybe due to the thrill of being so close to fooling him or maybe due to stupidity, said, “Or maybe I should have called ‘Just Steve’.”
Steve frowned and peered up at the Detective as though he was gazing at an alien with several heads, “Why?”
Already regretting his brains inability to keep quiet, Tony lowered his head to prevent Steve from getting a good look at his face, “When I asked for your name you said ‘Just Steve’... it was a joke.”
Steve took the cup and stood for a moment. The silence encouraged the awkward tension between them until the mob boss finally said, “Okay then... Thanks for the coffee, Marvin.” The tall man spared a glance for the name tag. He turned and was gone in seconds, the ringing of the bell over the door was the only thing that proved that Steve had even been there.
Another customer laughed out of awkwardness, “Ah, that was awkward as hell... Anyways, do you know where my latte is? I ordered it twenty minutes ago.” Stark eyed the man with a frown before bustling off to make his shit attempt at a latte.
If he wasn’t being forced to keep Tony, the boss of the coffee house probably would have fired him on his first day. And Tony would have agreed with the decision. However, he could only hope that Steve had been too distracted to notice him