They hadn’t said who the hostages were, although Brock might not have reacted to hearing her name. He’d seen her around. A lot. But he didn’t have a name to go with the face. So seeing ‘Darcy Lewis’ in the report might not have made a huge difference. Might not have meant a thing.
It was when he’d burst into the room that it meant something. She was there, shaking like a leaf in the corner with Dr. Foster. Bruises covering both of them. Blood on their faces.
He recognized her as soon as he saw Dr. Foster. The quirky assistant who had a nickname for everyone. He wasn’t sure what his was. But she’d never hurt a fly. With her wide grins and sarcastic comments. She was a breath of fresh air. Not a scientist. Not an agent. Just a cute girl with a cute smile and big blue eyes full of light. A knack for making people relax. She, more than anyone, didn’t deserve this.
And for whatever reason, that flipped a switch in his brain.
There was a stupid bastard holding a gun on them. Holding a gun on two women. The fucking coward. He deserved what he got. Hell, he deserved far worse. Anyone who would try to make the light go out in those big blue eyes deserved far worse than a quick death.
Brock raised the gun, squeezing the trigger. Didn’t flinch when the guy dropped like a sack of potatoes onto the rotten wood floor. And he should have stopped. Should have holstered the gun and tended to the women.
But he didn’t.
He kept squeezing the trigger. Kept shooting the guy. The body jumped with every hit. Glassy eyes staring into the ceiling as blood began to pool beneath him. He pulled the trigger until he couldn’t anymore. Till it clicked, chamber empty.
“Whoa…time for a chill pill, Agent Stallone…”
Agent Stallone. That was his nickname.
He huffed, holstering the gun and turning towards the two women on the floor.
Setting his jaw, he set to arranging the extraction.
The bruises on Darcy's face looked worse than they were.
At least that’s what he found upon closer inspection.
Much closer inspection.
Like when she knocked on the door to his bunk later that night. After she was safe. She was leaning against the doorframe, wearing SHIELD issue sweats, her freshly washed hair leaving damp spots on the shoulders.
She was there to thank him, so she said. She kept whispering it as she reached for him, her hands running up the muscled planes of his chest, rucking up his shirt and tossing it somewhere.
It was some thank you. That was his only thought as h
is breath rasped against the back of her neck. His hips snapped forward repeatedly. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her back to meet his thrusts. She was curled around a pillow. Her moans staccato and sharp. Breaking the silence each and every time he pushed into her.
Her walls clenched him. Taking her pleasure from his actions. Fluttering around him and crying out, her voice grounding him and bringing him where she was. Pumping himself dry into her warmth.
She’d dressed quickly, kissing him goodbye with another ‘thank you’. Leaving him naked on his bed and sliding the door closed behind her.
He realized he probably should have asked her to stay.
Especially since his body was singing for hers. Wishing for her curves to meld against his hard planes of muscle. To wrap himself up in her until he couldn’t tell they were separate people.
But come morning, her bunk was empty a
nd he had to track her down. Had to find her in debriefing. He took one look at her face and knew what her feelings were.
Just the one time. She’d only needed him once. And that’s all it had been.
Because they were too different. It was a miracle they’d happened at all. She was light and he was dark. A star versus deep dark space. He’d swallow her whole if she stayed too long.
He’d be an ass to try to force anything.
Which made him feel all the worse for wanting to.