Chapter Text
The unsettling feeling of someone watching him had Brock on edge. He shouldn't be, it was the middle of the night in the SHIELD cafeteria and the only people he had inventoried when he walked in were two analysts, a group on break from Logistics, a weapons tech, and the assistant (actually, I'm more of a Girl Friday!) for Jane Foster, Lady Thor. Brock continued to eat his pitiful plate of chicken, rice pilaf, and steamed broccoli. The only other options tonight were: green salad with your choice of grilled chicken or barbeque seitan, or an ultimate calzone. Neither would get him through the physical training evaluations that started at 2 a.m., in one hour.
A plastic tray slid across his table and he paused the forkfull of pilaf and flicked his eyes at the person now sitting across from him. It was the Girl Friday. The absolutely stunning woman who flitted around the research labs. What was her name...D. Lewis. Daricel? Deidre? Delilah? Django? It would come to him, once he stopped staring at her chest.
"Yo." She picked up her half eaten calzone and took a big bite, cheese oozed from her teeth.
Brock rolled his eyes. Some young SHIELD agents liked to play the "I'm not afraid of the man who once was Crossbones," game. With one look, they would be scrambling from the table in fear. He knew that it wouldn't work with her. Brock had seen her put Clint Barton in line with one look. Bucky Barnes avoided her like the plague when he didn't have Wilson or Maximoff with him. Sam Wilson flirted with her in the hallways. Once he had seen her and Hank Pym having an intense conversation about theoretical physics and the Multi-Verse. Hank Pym only visited SHIELD to hang around the astrophysics lab her and Thor occupied. Once, Brock had seen Pym exit Maria Hill's office with a large paper weight aimed at his head.
Gruffly, Brock asked, "Yeah?" He brought his fork the rest of the way to his mouth and chewed it thoroughly. The scars on his face pulled as he chewed the mouthful of food.
Her lips turned up around her calzone as she took another bite. Darcy, that was her name, cut the gooey cheese with her fingers and stuck them in her mouth. "You were in the Navy?"
He lifted an eyebrow, that was an unexpected question. Placing his fork on the table, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his scarred and tattooed arms across his chest. "Who's asking?" he questioned back.
Brock watched her eyes flick down to his arms and her teeth bite the side of her lip before she smirked and answered, "Me." Her eyes finally made their way back to his face before she stared at him. "Just curious, nothing nefarious."
Shaking his head disbelieving her, he said, "Word around campus is that you're always up to something nefarious."
She leaned forward and Brock was helpless, her shirt loosened around her chest and he had a direct sightline down into her cleavage to where a black lacy bra held her in. It was only a quick look. He knew workplace harassment rules, he knew he had to keep his nose clean. Brock was only back at SHIELD because he was one of the best at what he did...and he didn't get frustrated with new recruits. With that in mind, he was shoved into the Training Commander role. "You shouldn't listen to rumors."
"It isn't a rumor if it's true." Brock held her gaze again. There was definitely something there, something mischievous hiding beneath the top layer.
"I just have to know," she sat back with a huff and crossed her arms across her ample chest, "it is imperative."
"Doubtful." Brock sighed and pushed himself back from the table, he'd have to settle for the protein bars in his office to keep him going. Being bothered wasn't how he wanted his time pre-eval to go.
"Aw, don't be like that." She stood from her spot and grabbed her own tray to follow him. "I just want to know, humor me."
Brock dumped the half eaten plate into the bin and placed the tray on the return window before he turned to the short woman, "You've probably looked at my file already."
She waved a hand, "I tried to," she didn't deny it at least, "but evidently your file is paper only and it is in a section of the archives I don't have access too, bub." Darcy leaned back on her heels and rocked, “So...were you?”
Giving in so he could return to work, Brock sighed heavily, "Yes, I was in the Navy." The way her eyes lit up was all he needed to know that it was a trap.
Brock turned to walk out of the cafeteria, no one in there needed to witness the absurdity that was Darcy Lewis questioning him. "So!,” she followed him closely, “You'd say you were a sailor?"
Scoffing, "Well, I wasn't a seaman." He walked down the hallway, his sneakers silent on the tile. Her low heels clacked behind him.
"Sailors know how to navigate, right?" She asked behind him.
His eyes, yet again, rolled up in frustration. Brock turned on her and narrowed his eyes. Full tilt, she walked into his chest, not realizing he had stopped. "Why does it matter?"
Her small hands moved up to push herself off of his chest. They were planted there a moment longer than necessary; she smiled widely and asked, "So if I was going to ask you to teach me navigation, could you?"
Goddamnit. All sailors knew the euphemism that was Navigation. Even civilians on the shore would use the term with the military men. "Absolutely not." Brock had walked right into it.
Her blue eyes narrowed behind her glasses and Brock kept his face blank. "Why not?"
Countering her, because he wasn't fucking blind or dead, Brock asked, "Why yes?"
That mischievous smile was back. "Because it'd be fun." She gave him an appraising look from head to toe and back, "You look real fun." After a pause, she added, "Plus, Katherine, the lawyer, not the accountant, said you are a lot of fun." Brock remembered Katherine, she had been a lot of fun too, until she wanted him to meet her family. It was Pre-Triskelion and Brock knew he couldn't be that involved with someone and broke it off. Darcy scrunched her nose and continued, "She also said you broke her heart, but I'm not too worried about that."
"What is wrong with you?"
She shrugged minutely. "I mean, physically, mentally, or emotionally? Because I don't think you actually want to open that can of worms." She tapped her lips with her forefinger, “You probably aren’t ready to open that can or worms either.” Brock shook his head and turned back to make his way back to his office but was held back by her small hand on his bicep, "So maybe I approached this wrong, everyone said you had a good sense of humor, but obviously it is one in the morning and maybe I'm being too forward, you don't even know me."
Looking over his shoulder he said, "I know who you are." He gave her his own lascivious up and down, "It's not lack of interest."
She let go of his arm and asked, "Then what is it?"
"You'd probably break me," Brock said honestly. A woman who looked like her was one in a million, thick hair, baby blues, and curves in all the right places. Dangerous curves at that, curves more dangerous than those on I-495. He took one last look at her, standing there with her mouth agape like she wanted to say something back, turned away and continued back to his office. This time he didn't have a shadow.
After evaluations completed thirty-six hours later, Brock leaned heavily against the side of the elevator and let out a deep breath. Thankfully, the carriage was empty all the way down. When the door finally opened, it revealed an equally tired looking Lewis holding a worn leather bag full of old tools. Running a rough hand through his hair, Brock held the door so she could enter.
"Thanks," she muttered before she pressed the button to the astrophysics lab.
"Yeah, no problem," he said equally as low.
"See ya," she nodded and leaned back against the spot he just vacated.
Brock nodded and walked into the atrium. He made it two steps before he heard Darcy ask, "What are you doing later?"
Secretly he had hoped she would say something, he wasn’t one to initiate these things anymore, he didn’t know how to navigate them anymore. Over his shoulder he answered, "Sleeping off a thirty seven hour day."
The elevator buzzed in protest as she held the door too long. Brock watched her step out slowly with the silver doors sliding shut behind her. "Yeah, I was going to do that too, once I dropped these off," her voice was quiet, the exhaustion seeped into her words.
"You look like you've been up as long as I have." They stood close, a step between them. Looking down Brock whispered, "What do you want?" Brock could feel the burns on his face pulling as he wrinkled his brow in curiosity.
"I don't know," Darcy simply said while she heaved the tool bag up her shoulder to steady it. "Just…"
"I wasn't lyin'," Brock whispered.
"Can you…" Darcy started, "nevermind. It doesn't matter. I need to get these tools to the nerds and then I'm passing out."
They stared at each other for a moment longer until Darcy looked away. Her free hand reached back and pushed the up button to call the lift. It was on sub level eight. She'd be there for a minute. Brock's chest expanded with even breaths as they locked eyes again. "You want me to wait?"
Why beat around the bush.
"You don't have to do that," Darcy said, "Two more minutes standing and you look liable to fall asleep standing up."
"There's a bench." His eyes moved to the side where a long cushioned seat lined one side of the atrium. There was one that circled around the central water feature too. "Thirty seven hours, thirty seven hours and fifteen minutes, it's all the same to me."
She looked at him surprised, brows high in her hair line and mouth a little open. "Wait, really?"
"Just don't give me a heart attack or somethin', I'm old." She laughed quietly at him. "You think I'm joking."
"You're serumed." Darcy countered. "Nothing is going to give you a heart attack any time soon."
The lift pinged behind her and Brock motioned his head towards the bench seats, "I'll be here."
The wait was only nine minutes and in those nine minutes: two coffees were spilled, one person was denied entry to the building, four people saw him, backed up and walked around to the other side of the atrium, then Wilson and Barnes had walked off the elevator, gave him a matching look and bowed their heads to conspire together. A Code Three in Sector 1, it was a code the building heard daily and Brock watched as the janitorial services went outside to pick up a bird off the sidewalk.
"So…" Darcy Lewis finally stood in front of him, hands deep in her pockets and hair wild around her shoulders.
"You want to get out of here?" Brock asked, standing from his spot in the middle of the room. Darcy nodded and he grabbed her hand, her surprised look didn't go unnoticed and neither did the fact that she gripped his hand tightly back. In her spare hand she held a medium sized black canvas tote bag.
Once they were under the blinding mid-day sun, he moved towards the line of reserved spots and unlocked a blacked out Jeep Scrambler. Not a new one though, they hadn't made these since 1985. It had a matte black finish on a dented body, the small truck bed was covered with a custom cover and thankfully, as he boosted Darcy in, he had reupholstered the seats so their asses wouldn’t sweat on broken, time worn leather. He walked around to the driver's side and pulled himself into the seat slowly. Brock might be serumed, but he was still human, a long day would do anyone in. He stuck the key in the ignition and the Scrambler rumbled to life.
"Did you get this when you were in High School or something?" Darcy asked as she buckled the canvas belt across her hips. She didn't complain about them not being a three point harness like the last woman that sat there.
Rolling his eyes again, he popped the e-brake and shifted into reverse. "You could say that," Brock said as he looked behind his shoulder.
Darcy hummed next to him before she leaned back into the bucket seat. He shifted into first and looked over at her, her eyes closed. The refurbished aircon was blasting cool air onto them and Brock could see her dark hair being shifted. "How long's the drive?"
"Only going to Alexandria, maybe twenty minutes this time of day." Brock pulled up to the exit gate and nodded to the guard before continuing on. "Unless you need to grab anything."
She kicked at the bag in the wheel well, "Anything I need is in there."
Brock mulled on that as he maneuvered his way on George Washington Memorial Parkway. Anything? Maybe her bag was like a flerken and held a multiverse within it. "You're not allergic to cats, right?"
Her left eye opened and she looked at him curiously before closing her lid. "Nope. I love cats."
"I'm watching Carter's cats while she's in Germany." He shifted into fourth gear and accelerated down the parkway.
Darcy laughed once next to him, "Hasn't she been in Germany for five years?"
Clicking on his directional, he moved the Scrambler into the passing lane to move around someone visiting from Kentucky. "They FaceTime."
"I think you own cats, Brock Rumlow." He peeked over at her and she had a smirk on her lips.
Brock remained quiet for a few minutes as he maneuvered around cars and shifted down for stop lights and people pulling out in front of him without looking. The D.C. metro traffic had always been terrible, that day was no exception. He exited and cruised down the old cobble streets and closed in on his home.
"Holy fuck, you live in Old Town?" Darcy sat up and looked around her. "How much does this set you back?"
The cobbles jostled them as they made their way through Old Town. "My parents bought it cheap while I was at the Naval Academy in the nineties." Brock pulled the Scrambler into the driveway of an old colonial that had a garage door. With a push of a button on his visor, the door rolled up. "How do you feel about moms?" Brock let the Scrambler rumble into the spot next to a pollen covered, backed in, black Alfa Romeo Guilia.
"I mean, I had a mom and I liked her when she was alive." Brock watched as she unbuckled her belt. "Why?"
"I have cats and my mom in the house." Brock unbuckled his own belt and pulled the key out.
"Is this a test?" She asked, a hint of tiredness seeped into her voice.
"No," Brock opened his door and pressed the button to close the garage door behind them.
"Plus, mom's love me," she jumped out of the Jeep and grabbed her black bag, "they think I'm quirky and fun." Darcy sounded proud of herself and Brock couldn't wait to see his mother's face. She was not the normal woman he would bring around, she's about fifteen years younger than anyone he's brought back in the last ten years.
"Good to know," he motioned with his head, his scars pulling a little as a smile edges onto his face, "this way." Brock led her through a heavy thumbprint locked door and into his home gym. To the side the stairs brought them up to the kitchen where he heard his mother putzing around. "She's getting ready for the farmer's market tomorrow," Brock said over his shoulder, "ma's the pasta lady of old town."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Sounds delicious," Darcy said as she climbed with him.
"I'm just going to make sure she doesn't need anything." He left Darcy standing in the hall next to the stairs, she could follow if she wanted to. Not to startle his mother, he called out to her in rapid fire Italian and heard her yell back at him. Darcy's soft footfalls were following him, just a room behind.
Looking into the kitchen, he watched as his mother rolled a large sheet of pasta on the stone counter. Fifty one years and the smell of homemade pasta still made him happy. She lifted a flour covered hand and made a shooing motion, "Go and rest, let your guest relax too."
Darcy finally came to a stop next to him and watched his mother roll the sheet out. "Just checking…."
"I am grown, if I need anything, I will text you," she finally peeked up and saw Darcy's small curvy frame next to him. Brock watched as her eyes grew slightly wider and her lips pressed into a thin line, she was definitely holding a comment back. They were both bone tired and it was evident on their faces, their hair even looked tired. "Good god, go upstairs and go to bed, you both look dead on your feet." She gave Brock a pointed look. The look that said they would be talking about this later. "I'll leave you some ravioli in the fridge to boil later, Marco is taking me out tonight."
Brock nodded, he hadn't argued with his mom in… well probably since Pierce wacked his father, years ago. "He knows you have your market tomorrow, don't let him keep you up all night."
"Yeah, yeah," her eyes shifted to Darcy and she clearly said, "I'm the one that keeps him up all night."
His mother tilted her head back down with a smile and Darcy had a wide grin on her face. "I don't want to know," Brock replied.
She looked up one last time, a twelve disc pastry wheel in her hand, "We can chat tomorrow, dear," it was directed at Darcy, not him.
Darcy nodded, still with a smile on her face as she grabbed his hand and pulled him back to the stairs, his mother looked pointedly at him, like she knew.
"I'm locking the cats out," Brock finally said as he was pulled away.
"They're locked in my room anyway!" She called. Brock could hear the stainless steel wheels running against the counter.
"I'm not meeting the cats?" Darcy asked as he ushered her up another flight of carpeted stairs, his hand grasping the curve of her waist.
"Later, Arnold and Gerald will walk all over us and we'll never get any sleep," he led her through a set of doors into a living area and past a set of opaque French doors until they stood in the middle of the master bedroom.
"Did Sharon name her cats after cartoon characters?" Darcy asked as she dropped her bag to turn slowly.
"You're the first person to actually know that outside of Carter herself," Brock answered before putting his foot onto his sitting chair to untie it.
"Probably my age," Darcy said flippantly before toeing off her shoes, "When I propositioned you, I thought we'd be doing this at my dinky apartment on campus, not… wow," she continued to turn and take in his room. Darcy nodded with approval.
The Crossbones money had paid off in the end. It wasn't like the bedroom had been shaby beforehand but things didn't match and it drove his mother nuts whenever she came down from the city to visit. Once she had his credit card number she had paid a local designer to come in and take care of the house for them. One hundred twenty thousand dollars later, the house had been completely renovated and furnished. Thankfully, his mother had passed on his simple taste to the designer and nothing ridiculous like gargoyles on the house had been posted. The sage green walls with cream accents had been a surprise, and the fact that he loved it had surprised him more. The designer had let him pick from different furniture, and the cream and gold painted wood went well with the thick coverlet they bought. "It's just a room." He pulled both of his shoes off and put them to the side.
"This is nicer than any hotel I've ever stayed at." Her eyes were wide when they finally met. Brock smirked. "You probably have thousand count sheets."
"Anything over five hundred is overkill," he quoted his designer. Darcy let out a laugh before she pushed her shoes next to the door. "I'm going to shower before I fall into bed," he said quietly. His arms went to grab his shirt to pull it over his head and he said, "You know the burns don't stop at the face, right?" Some women hadn't realized he was burned on seventy five percent of his body.
Her shirt hit the floor as she answered, "I was told." Brock looked at her before he pulled his shirt and undershirt up and over his body. When he dropped it, she was unclasping her lacy bra and staring at him. "Burns don't hide your eight pack," she nodded at him. He rolled his eyes. She pulled her bra off her body and his mouth went dry. She must have caught his eyes going wide because she continued, "That's what I thought."
Brock held the button of his jeans as he stared at her. Dark hair fell over her pale shoulders and the shit eating grin didn't deter from the fact that she was built like a goddamn coke bottle. Barnes had described her like that once and he had never let it go. Brock had noticed her all over the compound once the idea was put in his mind that under her shapeless sweaters, hats, and broken in jeans (with or without oil stains), she was a looker. Darcy was soft in all the right places and generously built in all the other places he had let himself think about. He swallowed thickly. Brock was lost for words. He flicked the button of his jeans and dropped them as Darcy was walking out of her pants, panties pooled in the center of her jeans. "If you break me, you're explaining it to Hill," he joked. Darcy moved towards him and his Adam's apple bobbed under thick scars.
"I'm not going to break you," she stood in his space, naked as the day she came into the world, and stared into his eyes. "I don't think I'll be able to keep my hands to myself, though." Darcy quietly said as her hands grasped the edge of his boxer briefs.
"Never said you needed to keep them to yourself, that kind of defeats the purpose." He pulled at the boxer briefs until they were able to be kicked to the floor.
Darcy hummed in agreement and she took another step closer to him. He could feel her thick thighs pressed against his. Brock always wondered if the women he slept with could feel his scars on their skin, he wondered what they thought about them sometimes. Five out of the last six women he had slept with had him turn the light out. Talk about a mood killer. He wove a hand around her waist and pulled her flush against him. He leaned down and pressed his lips quickly to hers before backing up.
"This is your bathroom?" He had moved to the shower and adjusted the water temperature as she stood against the doorway, her eyes wide. "I mean, I'm not surprised.. but.. holy shit." Darcy moved to the tub and caressed the wood side. "This is a badass tub." She looked over her shoulder at him and Brock flicked his eyes up from her bare, round ass. "This is like the Alma's Caviar of the tub world."
"It's just a tub," Brock said, a smile pulled the scars around his eyes.
She pointed up, "You have sexy mood netting around the tub, this is not just a tub, this is a statement."
Brock rested against the glass shower door, "What's it sayin'?"
Darcy prowled towards him and replied, "It's a promise of things to come." She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the sage and cream tiled shower. "Holy…" she moaned as the water hit her skin heavily.
Brock leaned under the other head of the shower and ran his hand through his hair to wet himself. "Yeah," he still couldn't believe he was in a shower with Darcy Lewis, naked, wet, and wanting, just too tired to do anything about it.
Neither of them said anything else as they moved under the water and soaped one another up. Her hand had slipped up his half hard shaft and then across his abs and the sly look she gave him reminded him that soon, hopefully very soon, she would be having her way with him. And if that hadn't encouraged him to hold only her heavy breasts and soap them generously as she leaned against him with his mouth kissing up her neck, he wasn't telling.
Darcy had her long hair twisted up in one of his towels when they finally crawled into his bed. "Are you sure you don't need a blow dryer?" Brock spooned his naked body up behind her, "I can run upstairs to grab it out of ma's bathroom."
Darcy snuggled her ass back against him and said, "It'll be fine," she pulled the hand he had cupping her breast and placed it at the apex of her naked thighs, "my hair's been through worse." She opened her thighs a little and he could feel her warm pussy under his fingers. "Could you?" Darcy looked over her shoulder, "Just until you fall asleep?"
"Won't be long," he brushed his fingers gently along her and dipped them between her folds. Brock pressed his lips against her neck and adjusted himself until he found a comfortable spot. "Sleep tight," he whispered while his finger rubbed against her clit.
"Yeah," she sighed contentedly and Brock watched as her eyes closed.