Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

one.

Jake sets the coffee machine on the counter, rights it to stand exactly perpendicular to the wall, and steps back to examine his work. 

Ah, yes. Feels like home already. 

It's the last of the items he brought in his own car; boxes he's already carried in and left tucked in the corners of the living room. The rest of his belongings are being delivered by the moving company in, well, about half an hour, maybe? He reaches to the back pocket for his phone, but all he finds there is empty air. 

A spike of adrenaline surges through him as he pats himself down, looks around the surfaces in the house he might've left the phone on, and doesn't find anything. He runs to the car, hoping to see it tossed on the passenger's seat – no luck. 

Easy, Jake, he tells himself. Think. And the more he thinks, the more certain he is where he's last seen his phone: the top of the hallway table, next to the keys he was told to leave by the door, where he was certain he would look again and would remember to put it in his pocket. But then he was carrying the coffee machine to the car, kicked the door behind himself and didn't think twice. 

“Fuck.”

He can't leave the house before the moving crew gets here, but he also can't wait idly when his old place is about to be taken over by the office on base. The Navy’s local agent in charge of housing assignments hates him – an unfortunate circumstance that Jake has only himself to blame for – and might just decide that the phone is now Navy's belonging, along with whatever’s on it.

He needs someone to pick up the phone for him – Javy is gone for the weekend, can't fall back on him this time – or someone to wait for the movers and let them in. He glances around in desperation. He doesn’t know anyone in this neighborhood, and besides, it’s early morning on a Saturday; no one is in their front yards. 

The unexpected sound of shoes scuffing on the pavement has him whirling around.

There, on the opposite side of the street: a godsend.

In other words, a neighbor, but he’s handsome even at a first glance, fit as hell if the even, quiet breaths at the end of his run are anything to judge by, so he might as well be sent from heaven. Sadly, Jake doesn’t have time to appreciate his form or – oh, his very shaped ass the way it deserves.

He dashes towards the stranger’s porch. “Hey! Hi. I need your help,” he says with the best pleading eyes he can muster.

The man pauses in his tracks and turns to Jake. He seems surprised for a second – who wouldn’t be, accosted by an unfamiliar face on their property – but then his eyes flicker towards the house Jake’s now renting and understanding settles on his features. He smiles, and fuck, it’s a gorgeous smile, and Jake has ruined his chance of a good first impression.

Focus, Jake.

“Hello,” the neighbor greets him amicably enough, so Jake plows on.

“Yes, hi. Look, I–” He stumbles, searching for a way to summarize his pickle without going into unnecessary detail. “The moving trucks will be here in about half an hour and I really, really need to rush to save my phone from the hands of a spiteful woman. Could you do me a huge favor and let them in when they arrive? Please, man, I beg you.”

“Are you sure you want to leave your house in the hands of a total stranger?” The man raises a corner of his mouth.

It’s not an outright ‘no.’ Jake sticks his hand out, and shakes it when the neighbor grasps it.

“I’m Jake, nice meeting you…?”

“Pete. And likewise.” He huffs in amusement. “So we’re not strangers now, huh?” He got it in one, and before Jake can start pleading again, he shrugs. “Why not, I have an hour or so to spare. There should be enough time left for a quick shower and a coffee before the movers are here, right?”

“Sure,” Jake nods quickly. “And I’ve got coffee. Good coffee. There’s not much in the house yet but the coffee machine is already in the kitchen. Feel free to help yourself.”

“You got yourself a deal.” Pete grins. Jake exhales with relief and smiles back.

“Oh, wait!” He snaps himself out of a daze a few seconds later and pats his pockets. He pulls out the brand new set of keys and slips one of them free of a ring. “Here, in case you need it.”

When Pete takes it, he juts his chin towards Jake’s truck. “Alright then, Jake. I’ve got things covered here. Go rescue your phone.”

“Oh, fuck, right!” Jake runs to the street – not across the neighbor’s lawn, despite the rush. He knows better than to antagonize the man with a key to his house. “Thank you!” he calls back to a laughing Pete, jumps into the car, and then he’s off to base.

*

What should’ve been an easy in-and-out turned into a forty minute inspection of the house. Though he hoped to avoid the agent completely, he ran straight into her when leaving for the second time, and she made it a mission to turn Jake’s life even more complicated. She dragged him through the property room by room, questioning barely-there scratches and fading paint on the walls, as if he could be held responsible for the latter. He’s sure she’ll find a way to mark it on his record anyway.

But finally, he’s free to go. He wastes no time leaving the old house for good – third time’s the charm and all that.

He managed to check notifications on the phone before the agent glared him into full focus on the inspection, and he’s glad that he caught Pete on his run. According to the text he got, the movers would’ve gotten to his new place just when he was arriving back on base.

As Jake drives through his new neighborhood, there’s no sign of the trucks anywhere. He hopes that means they’re already done with carrying his belongings in. He pulls into park by the curb.

When he tries the door, it’s open. Pete must’ve forgotten to lock it behind himself, Jake thinks, but that’s fine – the hallway seems brimming with semi-labeled cardboard boxes, so the man successfully let the movers in. That’s what’s important.

He passes the stacks of boxes and heads for the kitchen first. With all the commotion and stress, he doesn’t feel the effects of his first coffee anymore. He needs more caffeine before he deals with anything else.

He stops in the doorway.

“You’re back!” Pete says cheerfully from the kitchen floor. He’s cross legged on the tiles, unbothered by the chaos of boxes around him, and there’s a toolbox that Jake doesn’t recognize sitting next to him. And, in front of him, there’s a dismantled coffee machine.

Jake points at it wordlessly.

“Oh.” Pete glances down at it. “It kept beeping alerts that the drip tray was overflowing when it wasn’t. I figured the sensor needed a little adjustment.”

“So you… decided to gut it?”

Jake isn’t sure what his face is doing, but it’s probably showing concern and maybe even dread at the possibility of losing the source of his morning coffee, because Pete’s eyes widen.

“No! I decided to fix it.” He points to the toolbox with a screwdriver. “Who do you take me for?” he jokes, and when that doesn’t really land with Jake, he raises both hands placatingly. “I’m almost done putting it back together. Give me another minute.”

Jake nods tersely. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he keeps count in his head – he’s giving Pete one minute before asking him to leave and calling the manufacturer service instead.

He gets to 50 when Pete screws in the last of the scattered pieces and pats the machine like a living animal. “See?”

Jake does see and if he’s to be honest, he’s impressed by Pete’s manual skill – but he hesitates. “It doesn’t mean it’s working though.”

“Trust me on that,” Pete says, getting up from the floor and dusting his jeans off. “Or if you don’t, let me prove it to you. Do you have a mug in one of these boxes?” 

Eying Pete warily, Jake goes to find the correct label (it’s ‘kitchen cupboards’), letting the man set the coffee machine back on the counter. He places it carefully, straight, just the way Jake put it before, and a part of Jake that’s not suspicious appreciates that. And to his surprise and relief, when Pete plugs it in, the machine whirrs back to life.

And it doesn’t beep.

“It has been doing that almost since I got it,” he says in confusion.

“A water level sensor got displaced, that’s all. An easy fix.”

Jake blinks a few times, recalibrating his attitude, then puts his Navy mug under the spout and presses the buttons for his usual.

“I already owe you one,” he complains as the coffee’s dripping down. “And I’m sorry for thinking you broke my machine. How can I pay you back?”

“Don’t mention it.” Pete waves his hand and then shakes his head when Jake tries to protest. “Seriously, Jake, it’s nothing. I enjoy tinkering, and there’s only so many times I can take apart and put together my bike’s engine before I need a break.”

“You have a bike?” Jake raises his eyebrows. While nothing beats the supersonic speeds of jets and the familiarity of his truck, he can appreciate a well-maintained motorcycle.

Pete nods, smiling like a proud parent. “She’s a beaut. You’ll see, if you stick around.”

“Well, I’m not planning to move anytime soon. Packing and unpacking once is enough.” Jake winces, thinking about the work still ahead of him, and Pete shares a commiserating laugh. “Can I at least offer you another cup?”

“Tempting,” Pete admits. “It is good coffee. But I should probably go.” Before Jake can feel disappointed, he adds, “Maybe some other time?”

“Yeah,” Jake agrees all too quickly. “Yeah, of course.”

What’s the saying? He hates to see him leave but loves to watch him go. He keeps looking through the kitchen window – there’s no curtains that could help him be sneaky about it, so when Pete glances back over his shoulder from across the street, Jake sends him a cheeky smile and a wave.

Good-hearted, handsome, and good with his hands – it’s a dangerously enticing mix. It’s a shame they didn’t meet under better circumstances, but Jake is not giving up hope yet.

Chapter Text

two.

The blaring, insistent sound is splitting his head in two, but there’s no hiding away from it. He reaches up, trying to locate the silencing button, but whoever designed the device clearly decided to make sure no one presses it by accident. Jake could strangle that man right now. With the tip of his finger, he finally locates a ridge that feels like a button, and…

A loud bang! echoes through the house, and Jake startles, fingers jerking, luckily pressing onto the silencer and turning off the fire alarm.

Jake exhales in relief, and then regrets it, because when he breathes in, the smoke irritates his throat. Coughing, he turns his focus to the source of the other loud noise.

“Pete?” he greets in surprise.

The man’s standing in the entryway in a grease-stained white shirt, taking in the view of Jake’s smoke-filled kitchen. His eyes seem to halt at Jake’s chest, making Jake conscious of his semi-naked, still damp state. Though, when a couple of seconds tick before Pete looks up to meet Jake’s eyes, Jake feels quite confident Pete doesn’t mind walking on him like this.

“Jake,” Pete nods. “Sorry I barged in without knocking. I was working on my bike when I heard the alarm, and then it wasn’t turning off. I saw smoke in the window and, well… I got worried.”

As he listens, Jake jumps off the chair he got up on to silence the alarm, and the towel wrapped around his waist loosens a tad. He has to scramble to catch it before he flashes his genuinely caring neighbor, but seeing as Pete didn’t seem opposed to seeing Jake’s bare skin, he doesn’t feel too self-conscious about it.

“Oops,” he says with an easy grin, re-wrapping the towel, and Pete chuckles back at him, just as unbothered. “I must’ve won a neighbor lottery, man. I don’t think that many people would care to check in, even if they saw actual flames. And here you are, ready to save the day,” he lightens his voice a little, adding a flirty lilt.

“Would be a shame if there was a real fire,” Pete hums, tone teasing. “The house is nice, makes for a nice view of the neighborhood. The man who lives here isn’t bad either.” His eyes crinkle. “So what was it?”

Jake sighs, gesturing at the sink. “I left the pan on the burner like an idiot, the alarm started when I was in the shower. And when I turned the fire off and put the pan under cold water–”

“...it caused even more smoke?” Pete asks with a sympathizing wince.

“Exactly. Wait, let me just…” Jake tugs at the window handle and pushes it open, hoping the wind will air the kitchen out quickly. “Sorry for worrying you over something as stupid as this.”

Pete is shaking his head even before Jake ends the sentence. “No need to apologize. No harm done, as long as you’re safe.”

That’s more heartening than anything Jake’s heard in the recent, god, he doesn’t know how long. Javy’s style is more of a tough love and calling Jake out on his bullshit.

“Though…” Pete starts, then pauses, looking at Jake consideringly. Jake runs a hand through his wet hair and tilts his head in question. “I think you should give me your number. You know, in case I see another emergency when you’re not around.”

Smooth, Jake thinks, especially if you factor in Pete’s confident, crooked smile. He’d be more flattered if he wasn’t half-sure that it was just good-spirited flirting. Fuck knows, maybe that’s what good neighbors do. 

“Alright,” he agrees, pick-up line or no. “Give me your phone.” He makes a grabby hand gesture.

Mav doesn’t hesitate and pulls his phone out of his – very tight – jeans, unlocking it, opening a new contact and passing the phone to Jake. Jake enters his number, adds a contact name to save it under, and gives it a call. His own phone gives out a little trill from another room.

“A plane?” Mav asks when he reclaims his phone.

“Oh, yeah.” Jake realizes it hasn’t come up before. It usually does very early in his conversations with new people, but then again, that would be either at work or when he’s set on making a great first impression – and he botched that badly with Pete. “I’m a Navy pilot.”

Pete nods with curiosity, but it’s not an awed disbelief Jake is used to among civilians. It doesn’t seem that it’s a big deal for him to meet a Navy man – unsurprising, this close to the Navy base – or an aviator. Pete looks like a man who wouldn’t be immediately dazzled by Jake’s usual boasting of skill, and a part of Jake is determined to figure out how else he can pique Pete’s interest.

“You’ve got a callsign then?” Pete asks, revealing his familiarity with pilots, just as Jake suspected.

“Hangman,” Jake admits. He’s a little worried about how Pete will take it. Civilian chicks seem to dig the edgy sound of it, fellow aviators know to respect him even if they keep their distance, but he has no idea how Pete, with his charming smile and unfazed response to Jake’s career path, will react now. Somehow, despite them being practically strangers, Pete’s opinion matters, and Jake fears he’s about to get judged.

Pete hums. “I hope ‘Pete’ is short enough to not give you any trouble spelling, but if you save my number under an emoji, I want to know what you pick.”

Jake chokes on a breath, partially because were he to use an emoji, Pete might’ve ended up saved as a peach. Another part is the fact that Pete guessed right away where his callsign came from, which doesn’t happen that often. But maybe more importantly, he didn’t rush to assume the worst of Jake based on his callsign. It’s… refreshing.

“I–” He has to clear his throat and blink a few times. “I can manage a ‘Pete’, yeah.” He keeps the peach thoughts to himself. 

Pete smiles at him for a few more seconds, in which Jake starts to wonder if he can read his mind or at least his face, before shaking his head.

“I should let you go back to what you were doing. I gotta head out soon, too.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Jake feels a little bad for pulling the man away from his bike with the bullshit fire alarm scare, but he needs to say it again. “And seriously, Pete. Thank you. For caring to check on me.”

“It was no hardship,” Pete says sincerely, but then he eyes Jake’s chest one more time, sends Jake a playful wink and saunters out.

Neighborly, hot as hell, and not disinterested. If Jake’s digging himself into a hole with the hope he’s letting himself feel, it might be worth it. There might just be a treasure buried underground.