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it's what we do

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Brock wasn’t about to admit to anyone that he was an Omega.  He had a rep, after all.  

So he took suppressants. He boasted about his fictitious conquests and he went home to an empty bed every night.  

That was until he met Darcy. He’d been with female alphas before. Male alphas too. But he’d never felt that pull that he’d heard about. The desire to submit completely. He’d gotten what he came for, and he had no problem leaving afterwards.  But Darcy.  Darcy was something else.  

Darcy made him want to obey. To please.  To be taken care of.  

To submit completely.

To bond.

And it scared him to death. 


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“Cover me…” Lewis called over her shoulder as she ducked behind a storage crate. 

Rumlow felt a surge of what could only be described as fear roll hard in his gut as he watched her army-crawl on the floor in between the rows of crates.  He knew she had to save the kid.  She was always putting herself out there for shit like this.  

He took a deep breath and shot one of the lackeys in the shoulder.  Human traffickers were the literal scum of the earth.  And the ones who “dealt” in kids?  They were even lower than that.  They were the shit stuck to the shoes of the scum of the earth.  They were the lowest of the low.  

And for him to say that?  Well.  That was something.  These jack-weeds had nothing to lose.  And in Brock’s experience, nothing to lose meant you had no qualms about playing dirty.  

And he wasn’t about to see his bleeding-heart partner-turned-sometimes-lover die because of this. He popped another one in the leg, watching him drop his weapon and fall to the ground. 

“I got you, Darce…” he called.  


Chapter Text

Brock took another sip of coffee and checked the clock.  “Darcy, babe…it’s almost two A.M…you ready to call it quits?”  

She frowned.  “No.  I have sixty more cupcakes to make for this bake sale tomorrow.  You can go to bed if you want.”  

He shook his head.  “Nah.  Can’t sleep without you there.  Tell me what you need me to do…” he gestured towards the frosting bag she had leaning on the cookbook.  

“Step away from the frosting bag and go make sure the batch in the oven doesn’t burn…”  

He nodded, chuckling, “So I’m pretty much here for moral support?”  

“That’s right.  If you touch that frosting bag, I’ll chop off your head. And before you ask.  BOTH.”

“None of these cupcakes will burn on my watch, Sugar.”  


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“Oh God, like that…”  

Her moans were music to his ears.  Brock licked a long stripe up her pussy, ending at her clit.  He wiggled his tongue over the sensitive nub before sucking it between his lips.  

Darcy’s feet were planted firmly on his shoulders, her toes curling around them.  

“Jesus Christ…”

He chuckled, the sound deep and throaty.  He flicked his tongue at her clit.  “Just Brock’s fine, Baby Girl…Rumlow if you wanna keep it casual…”  

“Fuck you…”  

“Just a minute…I wanna watch you come first…”  He latched onto her clit again, sliding two fingers deep inside her.  

When she did come, it was fucking perfect.  Clenching around his fingers.  Gripping his hair and practically howling his name.  His first name, thank you very much.  

He hummed, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh when she tugged him away.  Nipping at her a little with his teeth.  

“Stop that…”  

“Told you I bite, Sweetheart,” he grinned devilishly.  

“Just get up here and fuck me before I change my mind…” Darcy rolled her eyes and reached for him.

“You won’t change your mind. I’m too good in the sack…”  

That earned him a pinch on the ass and a roll onto his back.  Which was pretty much what he was going for.  

She leaned down to kiss him, dragging her teeth over his bottom lip to the point of pain.  He grunted into her mouth and she let him go.

“You’re good?” She arched an eyebrow, rolling her hips against him. “I’m better…”  


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He was so sure he was going to wake up to carnage.  When he’d felt the pull of the moon before, he’d tried to ignore it.  He was wrapped up in Darcy at the time.  So wrapped up that he’d fallen asleep without heading to his safe place. 

So, when he awoke to a roaring fire and Darcy’s fingers carding through his hair, Brock thought that it might have been a dream. That maybe he still had time…

“So…in the interest of full disclosure…I know you’re a werewolf…” she murmured in his ear.  “And I kind of wish you’d let me in on that beforehand…” 

His stomach dropped. What if he’d bitten her? Was that why she was so muted?  Was she suffering because of him?  He sat up to inspect her.  “Did I bite you?  I know of someone…someone who can help…”  

“You didn’t bite me…” she assured him, even allowed him to search her body for marks.  Marks he thankfully didn’t find.  “You owe me a new coffee table though…” She nodded towards the fire, where he could just make out the telltale leg burning away.  The rest reduced to splinters. 


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She’d been asking him for a hug for a while now.  She hugged everyone, Darcy did.  Brock would always shake his head no.  She didn’t want to hug him.  He sucked at hugging, or at any kind of normal human interaction.  She’d only regret it.  

Which was the first thought in his head when he’d finally given in to her requests.  He could only say no to a pretty woman for so long.  

He wrapped his arms around her and held her stiffly to the front of him.  It was awkward.  Horribly awkward.  

Until it wasn’t anymore.

Until she ran her hand up his spine and practically forced him to relax against her.  It went pretty well after that if he was being honest.


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Darcy blood boiled at the sight of that new blonde intern, flirting shamelessly with Brock.  With her Brock.  

She took a deep breath, shaking her head and turning her attention back to the schedule she was working on.

Darcy hated that feeling. The green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head.  

Brock was her boyfriend.  She’d never had a reason to think he’d cheat.  But if one more person batted their lashes, giggled, or so much as grinned in his direction today, her head was going to explode.  

Fingers drummed on her desk.  “Heya babe…” Brock leaned down to press his lips to hers, lingering for just a moment, long enough to have her chasing him when he pulled back.  “You gonna be ready for lunch soon?  I’m ready to get outta here…” He tilted his head slightly over his shoulder towards the blonde intern, making a face that pretty much told her all she needed to know. 

“I’ll be ready in approximately…” She saved her document and closed her laptop.  “Now.”  

He chuckled, reaching for her hand as they left.


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The touch of her bare fingertips startled him a little.  She’d been wearing gloves, right? Brock could have sworn…

Darcy lightly touched his wrist, sliding down to clasp his hand in hers.  She was warm.  She was so warm, dammit. 


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Darcy knew her timer was going to go off in the middle of the night.  So she set her alarm in case she went to sleep.  

She somehow did drift off, only to wake up thirty minutes beforehand, enough time to put on a bra and run a brush through her hair.  She paced in the living room, watching the seconds tick down.  

When she was mentally counting down three, two… Her front door banged open, splintered wood flying everywhere when a man in full tactical gear burst into her apartment.  “Not to sound too cliche, sweetheart, but come with me if you want to live.”

“You’re my…?”  

“Soulmate? Yes.  But we have about five minutes to get out of this building.” He reached out and took her hand.  “I’m Brock, but we’ll have to put off gettin’ to know each other for just a little while, sorry.” 


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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.

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Darcy handed off the last dish, a drop of water sliding off the edge and down onto Brock’s bare left foot.  

She peered down at his feet, startling a little because three months before she’d only recognized his name and had barely been able to match it with his face.  And now?  Now, she was doing dishes in a kitchen.  Both of them were barefoot.  He was shirtless.  

Oh, holy hell was he shirtless.  Her gaze moved up from his feet to his narrow waist, to his broad shoulders.  To his smirking-like-crazy face that was slyly watching her as she checked him out.  

“Get a good look there, wifey?” he asked, slipping the dish into the drying rack and hanging the towel on the cabinet handle.  

“Not your wifey,” she reminded him, surprised by how petulant her tone had become.  

“Until Coulson calls, you are…” he said, smirk deepening and making it even harder to resist him.  

Gulping, she turned and reached for him.  “Until Coulson calls,” she repeated, before pressing her lips to his and groaning at the physical contact she’d been craving for months.


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Darcy reeled around, pointing her finger up into Brock’s scaly chest.  He shrank back, shifting into his human form with his hands raised in the air.  "Hey… hey!“ he exclaimed.  "Calm down, Darcy.”

“Calm down? Dude. You razed that guy’s entire farm. That wasn’t part of the deal!  You told me to show you around and you said nothing about destroying a farm.”

“That guy is hunting down my brothers,” he said. “He’s killed a few of them. So please. Tell me again how I can’t burn his farm to the ground.”

“Well…” Darcy exhaled. “I didn’t know any of that.  But still. The animals…”

“The animals were in the barn.  As you saw, I left the barn and the house alone. I simply destroyed his fields.”

“What are the cattle gonna eat now?”

Grass, I suppose! Why don’t you get off my dick and let me exact revenge, Lewis?”

“Why don’t you stop and think the slightest little bit about things before you do them, Rumlow? Now you’re going to have to stay in human form while everyone looks for the dragon.  Hell, you might have to go help. And who has to put you up while your sorry ass is out looking for your sorry ass?”

“I don’t eat much,” he countered.

“That’s a bald-faced lie.”

“I’ll catch dinner myself. In human-form. I’ll even share.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her middle as he ducked down to press a quick kiss to her cheek.  "Thank you, Darcy. I owe you one.“

"You owe me like fifty, Brock.  And I’m gonna start cashing in one of these days…”


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When he came up from beneath the sheets, his kisses tasted like her, but Darcy didn’t care.

Brock’s forehead pressed against hers as he panted softly, kissing her lips and jaw and neck, starting down her body again.  He only stopped when she grasped his hair, tugging him back to face level.  “Enough.  We’re going to miss breakfast.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I just had my breakfast. I’m going back for seconds.”

“You’re gonna get us kicked out if you keep this up,” she teased when she released him, and he started kissing his way down again.

“No, I think it’s you who can’t abide by the one rule this B&B has, Darce…” Brock teased right back. “No. Loud. Relations.”

“You are trouble, Agent Rumlow,” she countered.

“And you love trouble, don’t you, Lewis?”


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He didn’t know why she wanted anything to do with him. Brock was a sorry excuse for a human being.  And he’d puked in her backseat.  Which he was pretty sure was one of the things on Darcy’s no-no list.  

He groaned.  Moving hurt.  Her couch hurt.  Her fucking sequin-ed throw pillow was stuck to his face.  He felt dead.  Except he hurt too much to be dead.  

“Rise and shine, dumb-ass!”  Darcy’s bright and cheerful voice rang out as she pulled aside the vertical blinds.  At least, that’s what it sounded like.  And felt like, as the sun rays hit his skin.  

Hell, even that hurt.  

He groaned more, rolling over and attempting to burrow into her sofa.  

“Brock Rumlow.  Rise and shine.  I made you an egg sandwich and a tall glass of water.  There will be aspirin in it for you if you hurry.”  

“Fuck me, Darce…” he grumbled.  "Why couldn’t you just leave me there?“

“I was thinking the same thing as you were yacking up hundreds of dollars of single malt whiskey in my backseat.  But as I was lifting your credit card to pay for my detailing, I realized something.  You need someone to care about you.  It might as well be me.  I do everything else for you anyway.”  She sniffed.  Loudly.  

He slowly sat up, swallowing back nausea, because no way was he going to puke on her carpet.  "Yeah? What’s in it for you?  You can’t just be in this for the car detailing.“  

"Yeah, well… the sex is pretty good.  When you’re sober.”

He chuckled, and then winced because why did he do that?  "Thanks.  I try,“ he quipped, rising to a standing position and squinting to find his way to her kitchen.  


Chapter Text

Darcy’s lip was sore from how long she’d been biting it.

For her entire walk up the aisle at the cathedral, the carriage ride back to the palace, the long walk as they moved through the Rumlows’ home and towards their quarters, she’d had her bottom lip between her teeth.

She’d been told they wouldn’t reside here in the palace for long.

They’d have their own home given to them soon enough.

But for now, given the rushed nature of their nuptials, it was easier to have them live here in the palace.

Her palms were sweating, especially the one currently clasped tightly in the crook of Brock’s arm.

She released her lip when her husband shut the door to their quarters. She exhaled and enjoyed the rush of being finally alone .

Well, not fully.

Her husband eyed her as she strolled around the room.

“You look good,” he offered. She could feel his gaze roving up and down her body, and even though she barely knew him, the feeling was a good one.

She smirked slightly. “For a foreigner?”

“No. For anyone.”

She returned his lustful gaze, admiring his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His cleanly shaven face that was starting to darken up with five o’clock shadow. She ogled not for the first time that day, but for the first time that he was aware of. “And you as well. You look nice.”

He preened a bit, turning to inspect his reflection in the long mirror.

He was a handsome man. It wouldn’t be hard to consummate the marriage.

“They’ll want proof,” she continued.

“Proof?” he asked.

“Of the consummation.”

His throat visibly moved as he gulped. “You don’t want to wait?”

She shook her head. “Do you?”

He reached for the button on his suit jacket. “Hell no.”

Chapter Text

Brock’s hands were oddly gentle as he held her hair back from her face.

Darcy’s thoughts were scattered, but she was able to ascertain that little nugget of knowledge between heaves.

“You alright? Want me to call the doctor for you?” he asked, his voice full of worry that was totally uncharacteristic of him.

She’d wanted to tell Brock about their little Bun-low over a home-cooked meal, not the toilet in their half-bath in the hallway, but she didn’t think she or the zygote could stand the smell of the pasta sauce.

She wiped her mouth and shook her head. “No, that’s okay.  Morning sickness isn’t always in the morning…”

“Morning si–” he stopped abruptly mid-sentence, and Darcy reached for the washcloth and tossed it into the sink to wet it. Once his brain had stopped breaking, they could talk more.  But for now, she really needed to clean up and brush her teeth.

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“Each of my thoughts about you is improper…” His voice was low and slick in her ear.

Darcy felt her legs turn to jelly as Brock’s voice melted her from the inside out. His arm slipped around her middle, holding her fast against him. Even though her skirts and underclothes, she could feel the hard press of something. Something promising.

“There are people waiting for us to receive them downstairs,” she reminded her husband, who was busying himself by crowding her over to lean against his desk.

“I won’t be long, I promise,” he whispered. “Don’t think you will be either…”

He gathered up her skirts, pushing them up as he rucked all of them up over her hips. Not even bothering to undo her garters, he brushed the tips of his fingers over her, finding her dripping wet and slick.

“How improper are your thoughts?” Darcy asked, her voice wavering as he slipped two fingers down to roll at the nub of her crest.

He made a low sound like a growl. “Just as improper as yours, I’d wager…”

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“What aren’t you telling me?”

The words hung in the air as Darcy tugged her tank top over her head. She turned to look Brock right in the eye. “You already know everything. I’m going to London with Jane. I figured you wouldn’t want to do the whole long-distance thing… so I’m giving you an out.”

He snickered a little, pulling back the covers and sitting up with a little more force than was necessary. “You’re a lousy liar, Darcy. I love that about you.”

She could feel his eyes on her while she finished dressing. He did little more than pull on his boxers.

“I’m not lying,” she insisted, a little late to be genuine. He was right. She was withholding something.

“Half-truths don’t count as not lying,” he reminded her.

She didn’t answer him, just grabbed her purse from the top of his dresser and turned to leave.

“Last chance,” he called.

“Or what?” She asked. “You gonna leave me or something?”

He shook his head.”I’d never leave you. You’re the one who’s leaving.”

Chapter Text

“You sleep well, sweetheart?” Brock asked as he sauntered into her office. He leaned on the corner of her desk, his simpering expression enough to make her wish for less security in this building.

There were approximately forty-three different nooks and crannies Darcy would like to drag Brock Rumlow, but zero where she was willing to get caught on candid camera, so she just grinned right back at him.

“Not really, no.”

“Aww, well. You should have called.”

“Didn’t need to. I dreamed of you all night. Feel like my imagination was probably better than the real thing.”

She wasn’t sure what made her say it because his eyes darkened considerably at her jibe.

“Your office door lock?” Brock asked.

She nodded, her belly swooping as he crossed the floor and slammed her door shut, twisting the lock closed before turning back to her. “I’ll show you who’s better…”

He was in her arms in two seconds flat. His hand under her skirt in just as much time.

She spread her legs wider for him. Candid camera be damned. Maybe someone would play nice and give her a copy of the footage.

Chapter Text

Brock emerged from the bathroom following his shower and disappeared down the hallway wearing only a towel.

Darcy was kind of disappointed he wasn’t going to collapse on the couch as is, still damp and providing her easy access, but it was bitterly cold outside and no matter how many space heaters she tried to safely cram in here, there was still a draft. It was an old building, so it was to be expected.

What she wasn’t expecting was for her boyfriend to join her on the couch, wearing a thick pair of socks, flannel pajama bottoms, presumably a t-shirt, and some thick gray cardigan-type-of-sweater that he’d hung in the back of his closet.  It was the third or fourth of such sweaters that Darcy had purchased for him, and he’d never worn. Until now.

It didn’t look bad on him.

In fact, it looked pretty damn good when paired with his 5 o’clock shadow that he hadn’t bothered shaving today, and his towel-dried hair.

She hummed and snuggled into his side, dragging the throw blanket on the back of the couch over them as she got comfortable. “Mmmm.” He smelled like her. Which made sense. He was out of shampoo and she’d forgotten to go get any. Did she mention it was an early cold snap? Usually, she had time to enjoy autumn, but this year, they’d gone straight from summer to winter. No reprieve. And as such, she was prone to remain inside.

Humming again, she snuggled closer.

She felt him chuckle. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But it’s cold.”

“I’m not complaining,” she replied. “I love a good grandpa sweater.”

“Hey, you bought me this sweater,” he retorted.

“I know. And that’s why I bought it.”

“Noticed you didn’t buy any shampoo, though…”

“It was cold,” she explained. “Too cold for going to the store.”

“I can’t really argue with you. I did come out of the shower and put this on.”

She giggled and tilted her head up to plant a kiss on his jaw.

Chapter Text

Brock groaned when Darcy emerged from her bedroom, yanking down the ratty, gray sweater over her head in the process. “You have like… hundreds of other sweaters, dontcha?”

She shot him an incredulous look. “I had a bad day. This is my favorite sweater.”

“It’s hideous. And you know I don’t care what you wear, babe. But oh my god. There are limits. It looks like it’s made out of some rat king you slaughtered in the subway or something.”

“This is my emotional support hideous sweater, thank you very much,” she countered. “It’s really soft. Feel.”

Darcy dragged the sleeve over his cheek and he conceded that it was soft. But he still maintained that it was hideous.

Sniffing in response, she replied. “You’ll pry this sweater out of my cold, dead hands, I don’t care how ugly it is.”

Chapter Text

To say that Darcy was mortified would be an outright understatement. But at least it happened in front of someone, right? She would probably appreciate this later when she wasn’t stuck in the lobby door of her apartment building because of her extra-long scarf, and at the mercy of her too-hot-for-comfort neighbor to whom she still hadn’t introduced herself.

“Just hold still, I’ll get you free in two shakes…” Mr. Tall, Dark and definitely Italian assured her.

He smelled like cedar. Like he’d just come from chopping down trees, except this was Manhattan, not a forest in the near distance even, so Darcy had to assume it was his aftershave. Or something.

“Thanks…” she laughed nervously as her handsome neighbor continued to stand entirely too close to her.  “Is it tangled?”

He’d punched in his code, and opened the door, but she was still stuck because of the old, non-digital locks that were still an integral part of the older door, even though digital locks had been installed earlier that year.


Mr. Fine As Hell released her and she was able to step out of the vicinity of his cologne and turn around to thank him properly.

“Whoa…” she blurted, catching sight of his dark eyes and completely forgetting how to words for a minute.

Wordsing was a thing, right?


He chuckled. “What? I got something on my face?” He reached up to run his hand over the stubble there. Five o’clock shadow.  Whatever it was, it was rude as fuck.

“Yes,” she said uncertainly, backtracking immediately when he went to check his reflection in the window. “I mean no. Your face is great. Fine. Perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome???” he replied uncertainly.

“For untangling me from the door,” Darcy continued. “Obviously not thanking you for your face. I mean, it’s a nice face, but not thank-worthy.”

He chuckled. “Well, you are certainly welcome then.”

“Darcy,” she started once more.  Zero for two, honestly… “Lewis is my name, and you are…” she trailed off, silently kicking her own ass for such a stupid introduction.

“I’m Brock. Rumlow. And, uh… thank you.”

She frowned. “For what?”

“Your face is thank-worthy,” he said, grinning widely and making her knees go weak.