#crossbones marvel

This is a prequel/sequel to my previous Brock x Reader one-shot, “Nightingale” (check my masterlist in my blog blurb for the original one-shot if you haven’t read it yet), which I have converted for the current entry into an x OC fic...because it’s mine and I can. I’m posting this on Frank Grillo’s birthday, June 8th, and dedicating it to him as my present that he never needs to know about 😏 This is rated mostly for sexual content, and you can consider everything that transpires here to be completely consensual. I hope you enjoy, and leave a comment and/or reblog because my anxiety-soaked ego needs it (moodboard made by me especially for this fic, story title and below lyrics belong to Everlast/Santana). Happy Birthday Frank 💙💙💙

☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️

There's a monster

Living under my bed

Whispering in my ear

There's an angel

With her hand on my head

She say I got nothing to fear

There's a darkness

Living deep in my soul

It's still got a purpose to serve

☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️ ☠️

Helena let out a sigh of mild frustration as she picked up her phone again, her car paused at a stop sign, glancing at the screen. No new messages. She'd texted Brock hours before, letting him know she'd be working late at the hospital, but that she'd stop by as soon as she could. It was late, the moon glowing bright as it peeked from behind a cluster of clouds against an inky sky. She imagined he might be asleep, but that wasn't going to stop her from at least looking in on him.

It had been a few weeks since he had been formally checked out of the hospital, and she had taken a few days of vacation time to coincide with his departure, helping him readjust to life outside of the facility as comfortably as possible. Nothing felt normal anymore, not for Brock, living as a civilian for the first time in decades. He struggled to fill his time with distractions, perhaps jumping back into fitness before his body was quite ready, and hiding away from the outside world. The time he'd spent in his new partner's presence had began to chip away at the years of near-brainwashing at the hands of Hydra, the propaganda, the warped ideas that had led him to his current physical state. Though he knew he could never again lead anything resembling a normal life, the loosening ideals he'd lived by for so long weren't what kept him inside, hiding away from society. It was his face. In his mind, his ruined fucking face.

Baron Strucker: All of London?

Baron Zemo: All of London! Buckingham Palace? Lay to waste! Big Ben? Topple to the ground!

Crossbones: The Tower of London?

Baron Zemo: Eradicate it.

Master Man: The House of Parliament?

Baron Zemo: Obliterate it!

Sin: The Holocaust Museum?

Look what came in today from the UK 💙

Chapters 1-3, along with a few unrelated oneshots, are in my masterlist in my blog bio, friendly reminder that Brock is not Hydra within the context of this story. Lyrics belong to Third Eye Blind, OC belongs to me, Gif credit goes to @suricateg​ - I cropped it slightly for my needs, but it was originally giffed by them and I thank them because it’s so soft 💙💙💙

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I've never felt alone until I met you I'm alright on my own and then I met you And I'd know what to do if I just knew what's coming...

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Brock stared seemingly at nothing as he lifted a glass bottle to his lips, taking a swig of beer and placing the container back down on the polished wooden bar top before him. He didn't want to get drunk and do something he'd regret, but with his team having voted unanimously to stop at a local bar after their successful mission before heading home to the states, he had to occupy his time somehow. He glanced down at his reflection in the high-gloss surface before him, noting the faint bruising that was beginning to form on his cheek. He'd gotten sloppy, just for a moment, but long enough to take a punch from an enemy that he should have been able to evade. Important as his mission was, he couldn't deny to himself that his mind had been preoccupied with the young woman at headquarters awaiting his return. Drawing out his phone from one of his many pockets, he swiped the screen and flipped to his camera files to the picture he'd snapped of Helena on their lunch date at the restaurant, taken in secret as he returned from the restroom. His stoic facade faltered, a faint smile forming on his lips as his thoughts returned to her again.

The Commander swiftly locked the screen as he heard a voice over his shoulder, turned slightly, expecting to see one of his men. Shit, he thought simply as he stared at a woman he faintly recognized, dressed in a way that screamed 'take me home with you', staring at him as she leaned her body against the bar from between two stools. “Benjamin,” she repeated, irritation creeping on her made-up features as she watched him, waiting for a sign of recognition.

“Angelique,” he acknowledged in response to the false name he'd previously provided her. It wasn't a secret amid the Commander's subordinates that he occasionally succumbed to a one night stand when they were out of country post-mission, and an attractive and willing participant presented herself. As Brock looked upon her, he felt absolutely nothing. All her scandalous appearance achieved was an enhanced personal wish in him to just return home, back to the gentle and cautious touch of the young woman longingly waiting for him. Before she could open her painted lips, Brock cut off whatever flirtatious invitation she had prepared for him. “I'm not going home with you.”

A disarmed look crossed her face as she looked upon him. That certainly wasn't the greeting she expected upon recognizing him in the bar she so often frequented. A smirk quirked her lips as she swallowed and leaned more provocatively against the bar. “We don't have to go home, I'm sure we can find some place close-”

“Do I look like I'm interested in fucking you tonight,” Brock rasped, his voice lowered in acknowledgment of the notice they were starting to gather by his fellow agents, several tables away, enjoying various alcoholic beverages in their limited hours of levity.

“I...are you seriously speaking to me like this?” his one-time liaison huffed, straightening her dress as she stood at full height, hands lowering to her hips in irritation. “You'd be lucky to-”

“I'm sure I would,” he lied in an attempt to avoid the scene she obviously wanted to stir up. “I'm seeing someone back home, and I'm not gonna...” Brock closed his eyes in irritation, biting back the harsh words begging to be released. “Look, I'm sure one of my boys would be more than happy to show you a good time,” Brock finally managed as he gestured to the group of agents across the room, many of them more invested in the conversation he was engaging in than he appreciated.

A few tense minutes later, filled with biting quips from the woman regarding his age, his height, whatever flaw she could conceive of that might damage his ego, she departed into the ladies' restroom and did not re-emerge until she was sure the coast was clear.

An hour passed before Brock finally informed his men it was time to leave, sacrificing as much of his own comfort as he could stand before dragging them away from their well-deserved down time. As the agents filed out, their faces becoming more somber as they departed, Brock noticed a younger agent, one he often worked out along-side, watching him with curiosity as he lagged behind the others. The commander said nothing as the man approached, his brows simply lifting as if asking him to speak his mind. The agent looked hesitant, and Brock crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

“I've, um...I've never seem you strike out like that before,” the younger man whispered, a hint of nervousness in his voice at broaching what he perceived to be a sensitive topic.

“I didn't strike out,” Brock stated simply. “I wasn't interested.”

The agent stared at his Commander as Brock began to pat down his various pockets, confirming all his belongings were in place before the team departed. “Is it...is it that girl from headquarters?”

Brock paused in his movements and looked the agent directly in the eyes, the subordinate clearly intimidated by his authority. “How do you know about her,” he asked simply.

“I was in the gym that day, when you two had your, um...moment in the hallway,” he paused as he stared at his superior, feeling more hesitant to continue by the second. “I guess I didn't think it was anything serious.”

Brock stared at the agent in silence for several moments, causing doubt to bubble up in the younger man at his presumptuous comments. “Have you ever known me to become involved with anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D?” Brock finally asked

“No, sir,” came the agent's quick response.

“Then that should tell you it's serious.”

* * *

Steam filled the tiled room as Brock breathed in the vapors, the hot, pulsating spray of a shower head soaking his hair and body. S.T.R.I.K.E team's aircraft had landed later than expected that evening upon returning from the mission, and the Commander, assuming Helena had left for the day, for the weekend, took his time unwinding in the isolation of the showers within the locker room. After several days abroad, it felt comforting just to be home, away from the cramped confines, surrounded by his men. He stood under the pulsing water several minutes longer than necessary before finally cranking the handle that shut off the spray, leaving him in silence in the residing fog.

Brock took his time in his solitude as he stood in front of a wall to wall mirror, examining his reflection for bruising, cuts, marks of his mission. When his vision reached his bruised cheek, he thought not of the man who had landed a punch, but of the woman who'd occupied his thoughts enough to distract him.

As he extracted his various toiletries from his gym bag, he pulled out his phone and glanced over his contacts. A few missed text messages displayed, having been delayed by the lack of reception when overseas, the most recent one from that morning. She'd reached out to him, inquired if he knew when he might be home. Brock began to type an overdue response, but paused, considering. Surely she'd gone home, it was well past her normal departure time. But, maybe...

With a tinge of guilt at the invasiveness of his actions, Brock clicked through various screens and eventually gained access to the GPS in Helena's phone in an attempt to gain her location. With surprise, relief and a hint of excitement, he found that she had not left headquarters at all. She wasn't in her office, her elevation was significantly higher. After running a scan of the layout of the building, Brock found that she was as elevated as she could possibly be, camped out on the roof. Anticipation bubbled up as Brock set his phone to the side, and began to prepare himself in the mirror's reflection, thoroughly brushing his teeth, styling his hair, wishing he had a razor present to take care of the several days worth of facial hair that had developed. With a few quick spritzes of cologne that he rarely donned on headquarters' premises, he glanced again at his phone to confirm her presence, dragged on a clean set of standard black everything, and set off toward the roof.

Several minutes and floors later, Brock finally pushed through the access to the rooftop, experiencing a mild flinch as the weighty door slammed behind him. Listening for signs of life and discovering none, he stepped out into the cement clearing, his eyes glancing in all directions. A hint of anxiety welled up in his stomach as the thought of finding her not alone, consenting or not, crossed his mind as his search continued to lack results, but he breathed a deep sigh when she finally came into view. The commander's feet stilled as he looked out at the feminine body that lie on her back atop a thick stack of workout mats, no doubt thieved from the gym. She seemed especially relaxed, unaware of any possible events around her, a faint melodic mumbling falling from her lips as she quietly sang along to whatever music was flowing through her earbuds.

Brock drew out his phone with a faint smirk, typing a message and glancing up at her again as he awaited the response. Seconds later, Helena reached for the electronic device on the concrete beside her, immediately raising to a sitting position when she read the name of the sender. “I guess the mystery of the missing gym mats is solved” she read, and looked around frantically to find him standing several feet behind her, immediately extracting the tiny speakers from her ears, unable to hide the joy that filtered onto her face at the sight of him.

“This looks an awful lot like a misuse of company property,” Brock spoke sternly as he stepped toward her, a hint of a smile defying his voice and admonishing words.

“Are you going to rat me out, Commander?” she inquired as her eyes followed his movements.

“I might if you keep calling me 'Commander',” he returned, lowering himself to the uncomfortably hard surface of the roof as he sat a few feet before her.

“It is your title,” she answered as she set her earbuds and phone aside, visibly removing any distractions. Their interactions up til now had been so stifled with the constant threat of sudden missions and the prying eyes of others. She had no desire to waste the opportunity for some real one-on-one time with him. “What would you prefer that I call you?”

“Brock?” he answered, as if it were the most obvious conclusion in the world. She smiled faintly as she watched him, as if she were awaiting another answer. “So, uh...why are you up here on the roof, anyway?”

Helena's smile faltered for a fraction of a moment before her eyes left him to lift up to the blue-black sky above. “It's the tallest place I have access to,” her voice was softer as she spoke, and she didn't need to take her eyes off the blanket of glittering darkness above to know he wasn't satisfied with that answer. “It's the closest I can get to the stars, without leaving the ground.”

* * *

Before either had taken notice, nearly an hour had passed since they'd entered each other's presence again, the stack of mats now divided into two shorter ones, pressed side by side as the two agents lie next to each other, speaking of seemingly insignificant things. Brock was holding off on what he really wanted to discuss, and they were both aware of it on some level. After several minutes of silence had passed between them, Brock took a deep breath that Helena couldn't help noticing, still lying flat on his back as he turned his head to look upon her.

“Yes?” she asked softly when he hesitated to speak up, shifting onto her side to face him, staring into his hazel eyes under the scattered electric lighting of the roof.

“Look...” he spoke, paused, took another breath as he closed his eyes. “My life is...complicated. I never know when I'm going to be home or halfway across the world. I can't anticipate when I'm going to have to break plans to go take out a ship full of pirates or a base full of terrorists.” She nodded as she listened to his words, a feeling of discomfort starting to swirl in her stomach as she began to mentally prepare herself for what he was working up to. “I don't really...date, because I get that this job is too much to ask someone else to put up with. It's hard to trust people, and having to leave at a moment's notice no matter what I'm doing...it doesn't exactly make for great boyfriend material.” If his eyes hadn't been closed, he could not have mistaken the hurt she couldn't hide on her face as she listened to his words. “I just need you to know that. Is this is gonna work, I need you to know what to expect...Do you think you're up for all that?”

Helena stared at him in silence, unable to bring herself to speak until he finally opened his eyes to turn toward her again. “Was that...was that you're anxiety-inducing way of asking me to be your girlfriend?”

“...That bad?”

“Yeah, that bad!” she exclaimed as she shoved his shoulder roughly, barely moving him. “That's not how you...Christ, you sounded like you were breaking up with me before we even started...” she let out a shuddered sigh as he stared at her, his mouth slightly ajar.

“Is that a yes?” he finally asked, and she released an exasperated breath as she lie flush on her back against the mat. Mirroring her previous position, Brock shifted his weight as he lay on his side, his head propped up on his hand as he hovered slightly over her, his brows raised as he awaited her answer. Helena let out a less dramatic sigh and shook her head slightly as she stared up at him, a smile finally forming on her face, “You're lucky you're so damn handsome,” she finally whispered. Brock's lips formed a crooked smile as he continued to stare down at her, his brows raising again, expectantly. “...Obviously, it's a yes,” she huffed as she rolled her eyes and turned away from him in false annoyance. “Just don't...,” she began, pausing as she felt his fingers against her cheek opposite him, allowed him to direct her face back toward his own, “...don't scare me like that.”

Brock mouthed a 'sorry' as he shifted his body and extended his weight-baring arm above her head, watching cautiously for any hint of apprehension. Helena closed her eyes as the fingers Brock had guided her with carefully brushed her bangs away from her face, combing gently through her loose tresses, finally weaving his digits amidst the auburn strands to cradle her. With a shallow breath, Helena finally opened her eyes again to find his face just inches above her own, watching her intently. Waiting. Slender fingers reached up to brush over the week's worth of stubble that had formed on his cheeks and along his jawline, the rough feel of his whiskers over his chiseled features causing pleasant anticipation to bubble up in her stomach. Her hands slid carefully up the sides of his face, passing through the thick tuft of hair, working her way toward the shorter strands in the back, applying gently pressure as she guided him down toward her, lifting the last remaining inch off the mat below her to finally press her lips against his.

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Likes are great, comments and reblogs are even better (no one gets their writing exposed to more readers if it doesn’t get reblogged), if you would like to be tagged in future chapters and Frank Grillo character fics, please let me know, and a reminder that the other chapters as well as my Brock oneshots are in my masterlist...

IMPORTANT A/N : Trigger warnings for indication of an attempted assault (not perpetrated by Rumlow), nothing remotely explicit, just a warning. Also, canon divergence, as Rumlow is not Hydra within my story. my OC belongs to me and has no relation to any existing character in the MCU, not based on a request, and I will update as often as I feel up to it (comments, likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated, as well as requests to be tagged in future chapters). This is my first MCU fanfic, and I won’t be writing for any other characters...Brock Rumlow just really caught my attention upon rewatch and there isn’t much fanfiction for him, especially with OCs...and he will probably be somewhat OOC, at some point, so fair warning on that too. Gif is mine.

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I never claimed to understand what happens after dark But my fingers catch the sparks at the thought of Touching you When you're wounded

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Hazel eyes scanned the long and empty hallway as the Commander strode through the corridors of Triskelion, the local S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, searching for...he wasn't even sure. Missions had been especially sparse as of late, and he found himself aimless. He glanced at his phone as he walked, no new messages or attempts at contact. Brock Rumlow walked without purpose, and it left him restless. Work would pick up, of course, terrorists were never really in short supply, they just weren't causing enough chaos to hit S.H.I.E.L.D's radar at the moment. His gaze focused on nothing in particular as he walked alone. Brock's ears perked at the sound of metal smashing several steps ahead of him, a masculine voice calling out in pain seconds after. Brock picked up his pace, listening for more noise to pinpoint which closed door the sounds were escaping from, another sound giving him a moment's pause. A female voice, frantic, and another masculine whine of pain, more metal clashing against an immovable surface.

His hastened walk became a run as he closed in on the noisy room, and reached a doorknob that was, unsurprisingly, locked. Throwing his weight into his action, he slammed his shoulder against the door and it gave way with ease, Brock stepping inside and scanning his surroundings with vigilant eyes. He looked first upon the young woman, dressed in business attire, looking anxiously from the man on the floor up to the Commander, her grasp on the hammer she clutched in her hand tightening. Without words, Brock's gaze descended to the man in the corner of the small room, clad in tactical gear, clutching his arm where the young woman had smashed it with the most dangerous thing she could reach, the buckle of his belt undone and the zipper of his pants lowered. It didn't take much imagination to grasp what he had walked in on, and Commander Rumlow removed his gun from it's holster and directed it toward the center of the man's forehead. Dark brows knitted together as the man, fortunately not one who worked under Rumlow's command, whined in protest of his innocence.

“So why are your pants about to fall down, Agent?” Brock's voice was rough but controlled, and he watched the man's throat tighten as he swallowed, glancing down at the evidence. When he looked back up with anger flashing in his eyes, he was met with Brock's bullet as it passed through the silencer of the Commander's gun. Rumlow's eyes shifted from the fresh corpse, to the sound of the hammer smacking against the carpeted floor as the young woman slumped back against the wall behind her, closing her eyes and releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

* * *

It had taken a bit of coaxing, but Commander Rumlow had convinced the young woman to follow him, and after some navigating, the two of them found themselves in a mostly glass elevator, overlooking the city as they ascended up the many stories to the infirmary. She had protested that she wasn't physically hurt, but Brock had insisted, and she quickly dropped any objection. Taking his eyes off the constantly changing digital readout display of the floors they passed, Brock looked toward the floor where the young woman sat, eyes closed as she leaned against the thick glass. With another brief glance toward the digital readout, Brock carefully lowered himself to sit beside her, watching her face as he did so. If she'd noticed his movement, there was no visual indication of it. As he studied her features, a sense of guilt rose in his chest, but he couldn't will himself to look anywhere else in the moment. It wasn't exactly professional to look upon a near-victim he had just rescued and feel a sense of attraction. His hazel gaze drifted over her lashes, her feminine nose that sloped up just slightly at the tip in a way he could only describe as cute. He counted the freckles that speckled her cosmetics-free face, took a few extra seconds to watch her lips as they parted to take a breath and pressed gently together once more. There was silence in the small mobile room as Brock continued to stare in secret, but his brows knitted together as she suddenly began to breathe more quickly in short bursts, her brows furrowing and her hands constricting into fists. Delayed reaction, he guessed, as tears started to well up in her clenched eyes and she began to hyperventilate.

“Breathe,” he instructed as he would an agent under his command, but it only seemed to set her on edge even more, and he leaned in closer as he dragged a finger-less glove off the hand closest to her and reached out to grasp her hand in his own, stating again less forcefully, “Just breathe. You're okay.” She gave his hand a slight squeeze as her eyes finally opened, and she tilted her head to look upon him briefly, before squeezing them closed again. His hand left hers and he carefully reached around her to pull her toward his shoulder for support, replacing his naked hand with the still-gloved one to grasp hers once more. Rumlow was used to saving victims, it was a significant aspect of his anti-terrorism functions, but providing comfort wasn't usually part of the process. As he felt her shoulder shake under the arm that held her, he realized just how little expertise he actually had in the human aspect of his work. “Just keep breathing, deep breaths. In and out, just...” his voice died away for a moment as he felt her tears soak through the cotton of his fitted shirt, and his grasp of her hand gave a little squeeze in an attempt at comfort, “...just keep breathing. You're safe now.” The words sounded strange even to him in his raspy voice, but he felt her body relax against him and he continued to hold her until the doors finally parted on the infirmary floor, Brock grateful that no one was there to greet them as soon as the doors slid open. With some more coaxing, the commander walked with his arm comfortingly around the woman's shoulder as he guided her toward the medical facility doors, his gaze barely able leave her as her slender digits clutched his highly toned bicep.

Just as a nurse took notice of the two of them and began to stride their way with concern, Brock's phone began to vibrate and chirp, alerting him that his presence was required elsewhere. With an apprehensive look at the young woman he had briefly looked over, he pocketed his phone again. Brock followed a few paces behind as the nurse guided the agent to an exam room, the nurse starting to shoo him off as he tried to enter after them. “I appreciate you escorting her, but I can handle this from here, Commander Rumlow,” she insisted, firm but still unsure of herself. Commander Rumlow had a reputation for being intimidating and forceful whenever he wished to be, and there were few who would try to direct him away from his goals when he wasn't on mission. Brock, unprompted, started to explain the events that had led to his involvement but the nurse shook her head again. “I'm sure she can explain for herself, she doesn't need you retelling it for her.”

Brock swallowed hard as he ran a hand through his near-raven hair, his hazel gaze falling to the forest green eyes that stared back at him from the exam table, tousled auburn hair falling around her face. She gave a silent nod as if to tell him it was okay for him to leave. “I'll check in on you later, agent...”

“Helena Raine,” she answered after a few moments of silence, staring at him as he took small steps backwards, his attention regrettably demanded elsewhere. He repeated her first name as he nodded, watching her for a few more backward steps before he turned and strode back toward the elevator doors.

* * *

The day passed slower than most as Rumlow went about tending to his typical responsibilities when not on mission, his mind distracted almost constantly. He couldn't focus on anything, the agent he'd rescued was living rent free in his mind, and he felt more than a touch of guilt feeling the instant attraction toward her that he did considering the circumstances of their meeting. It took the sound of his supervisor's voice calling his name to snap him out of his thoughts.

“Rumlow!” Brock looked up from the paperwork in his hands, the sentence he'd read through half a dozen times, not retaining a word of it, and peered over toward the agent addressing him.

“Yes, Sir,” he responded calmly, as he would on any other occasion.

“Can I see you privately,” he inquired, though it didn't exactly sound like he had a choice. After a moment of hesitation, the commander gave a silent nod, and strode after the agent as he was led to an empty conference room.

As Brock stepped inside, he was instructed to close the door, and when he turned around, he found the higher-up leaning against a heavy table with his arms crossed. Brock stared into his eyes in silence, waiting for what he had to say.

“I hear you executed an agent today,” the man finally spoke up, and Brock felt his throat tighten as he swallowed. After a few seconds, he responded with another Yes, Sir. “I also hear you were defending another agent in doing so?”

“Yes, Sir,” Brock repeated once more, “she was being attacked when I found them both in an office supplies room. It was clear that he had been attempting to...” Brock gave pause as he recalled the situation. Fuck, he hoped it had just been an attempt.

“To sexually assault her?” the supervisor finished Rumlow's thought for him. Brock gave a nod. The man nodded as well, and began again. “It seems you arrived in the nick of time. I'm sure she's very grateful.”

“I hoped...I hoped I was in time,” Brock uttered thoughtfully. “Is she alright? I told her I'd check on h-”

“She seemed fine, physically, not much more than some bruising. We sent her home for the day, and asked her to take the rest of the week off, take some mental health days.” The commander nodded at his supervisor's words, it seemed reasonable enough. He'd check on her when she returned, trying to convince himself his reasons for doing so were purely out of concern for her, trying to ignore the feeling of selfishness creeping up over the fact that he also genuinely just wanted to see her again. He, of course, kept this to himself in the other man's presence. “You won't be disciplined for your actions, Rumlow, you did a heroic thing. It sounded like she put up a fight and she held him off, but if you hadn't arrived...Well, I suspect this wasn't the first instance the deceased agent was party to, probably wouldn't have been the last if you hadn't stepped in.”

“I was just preforming my duty sir,” Brock finally responded before he was dismissed.

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Find Chapter 2 Here

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Prepare for a little more angst than the last chapter, but some fluff too. Some things just have to be brought out in the open if this budding relationship is to progress. If you haven’t read the two chapters, please do! You can find them at the bottom of my masterlist, pinned to my blog (and also linked in my blog bio), reminder that this contains canon divergence, Brock is *not* Hydra in my story, OC belongs to me, gif belongs to me

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Hey, will you stay awhile. My smile will not mislead you, Cause I've been alone, my faith turned to stone, Still there's something in you that I believe in

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“When I said I'd buy you lunch, I was thinking more like...Panera,” Helena mumbled as she looked over the items on the menu in her grasp, Brock skimming the steak section across the table from her.

“Too many carbs,” he answered as he glanced over the side options.

Like a slice of bread would wreck your physique, Helena thought as she looked hesitantly at the prices. This wasn't what she'd had in mind when she'd asked him out, this felt more like a mid-day dinner date. Her attempt to ease into whatever might develop between them was quickly slipping out of her illusion of control. The fact that there was still another day before her paycheck hit her bank account wasn't helping her anxiety either. She lifted her gaze over the menu to steal a glance at the commander as he worked out how hungry he was, and decided he was worth the possible overdraft fee.

Within a few minutes, the server made his way to the table, took their orders, and was dismissed with a throat-clearing from Rumlow when he found the younger man paying more attention than he liked to his lunch companion. Finally alone, he raised his eyes to the agent across from him, “Don't worry about the check, I've got it.”

Helena stared back with a hint of defiance in her eyes, “That wouldn't exactly be much of a thank you.” When he prepared to speak, she cut him off, “You can pay next time.”

Next time, Brock mused as he glanced around the restaurant. He'd made sure to choose an establishment that was somewhat isolated, too out of the way in distance from headquarters to run the risk of encountering anyone that either of them worked with. It wasn't like they necessarily had to keep their date, This is a date right?, a secret, but he wasn't keen on having an audience like their previous run-ins. With so much of his life under S.H.I.E.L.D's scrutinous watch, he welcomed the moment of anonymity. “I only get an hour for lunch,” she spoke, and he brought his gaze back to her features.

“I'll smooth it over with your manager if she gives you grief,” he reassured her. Helena smiled as she relaxed against the overstuffed backrest of the booth. Of course he would...wait.

“How do you know my boss is a woman?”

“What?” Brock's brows raised in confusion.

“I could count the number of female managers at headquarters on one hand, how do you know mine is one of them?

“I...” Brock hesitated. “I looked up your file.”

Helena's mouth opened, and closed again without words, opened again. “Well, that's...invasive.” Brock sat up straighter in his seat as he watched her, conflicted with himself for sharing that little detail. “Find anything interesting?”

Brock started to say no, but stopped himself, realizing how negatively that could come across as. “I don't...want you to take it personally,” he began, watching her ginger brows knit together, her lips pursed, and he continued before she could speak up. “Reconnaissance is part of my job,” Fuck, I'm just making it worse, he thought as she looked away from him, her jaw tightening, trying to keep her lip from quivering. Hadn't she been violated enough? “I have to...hey,” he reached out a hand to lightly cup the side of her face, guiding her back to look into his eyes with the careful pressure of his thumb on her jawline. “I have to be careful who I let in. I wouldn't be here right now if I'd seen something I didn't like.”

She was quiet for several seconds as she watched him, as he waited anxiously for her to respond, “I guess I can relate to that.” Brock parted his lips to respond, but drew his hand away instead as their waiter returned with their entrees.

* * *

“You better finish that,” Helena admonished gently as she observed the commander beginning to slow his eating, several bites of steak still on his plate. The mood between them had lightened significantly from the previous tenseness, the two of them becoming more relaxed in each other's presence. Glancing back up at her from his plate, Brock began to reach into his back pocket and drag out his wallet, though the server was no where in sight. “I said-” she began as she reached for the leather casing, “-that I would pay.” As he ignored her with a smirk on his face, beginning to open up the billfold, she clasped her hand over his, holding it and his hand closed in her grasp. Normally the act of anyone reaching for his wallet would ignite defensive measures, but his grin widened as he easily loosened her grip and slid his wallet to his other hand, holding it up out of her reach.

“Commander,” she sighed, shaking her head and digging for her own wallet in her small purse, “Please. I said I would pay, and I will. You can pay next time.”

Next time, the words echoed in his mind as he lowered his hand, watched her work through her own wallet for her card. “To be honest...”he began, her eyes lifting to his as the waiter approached, “I wasn't sure if you'd want a next time.”

Helena slid her card into the waiter's hand without even looking at the meal check, and he took the hint not to linger, or ask them about dessert. “Thought you fucked it up?” she inquired as she held his gaze, his brows quirking up at her profanity. “I get that part of your job is being suspicious of others...but I'm not your job.” Brock nodded, relaxing his back into the cushioning behind him. “If you want to know something...you can just ask.”

Rumlow watched her thoughtfully, considering how to proceed with what he wanted to know, with what wasn't in her files. “There's an age difference,” he finally admitted, as if it were some national secret, but she only raised her brows expectantly and waited for him to continue. “I don't wanna get invested if that's gonna be an issue.”

“It's not that big of a gap-”

“Over 20 years, that's significant.”

“Does it bother you?” she countered.

Brock was hesitant to answer. “It doesn't exactly bother me, but...”

“But why am I not interested in someone like...you've got someone in mind, don't you,” the corner of her lip quirked as she watched him, clearly uncomfortable. After the discomfort he'd caused her earlier, she wasn't quite ready to reassure his ego.

“...Barnes?” he uttered, and she grimaced.

“That greasy-haired potato?” her description of the man clearly took the Commander aback, but Helena waived her hand as if to encourage him to continue.

“Cap?”

Helena closed her eyes and shook her head at the thought. “The 'roided-up Boy Scout? Isn't he about to celebrate his centennial?”

A chuckle finally escaped Brock, and he leaned back toward the table, folding his arms over the varnished wood and watching his lunch companion. “I'm almost afraid to hear how you'd describe me.”

“I didn't figure you for being afraid of anything,” she responded, but he lifted his brows as he held her gaze, as if challenging her to answer him. Her face gradually became more solemn, more serious as she readied her response. “You really...I feel like I really got a good look at your character the day we met, when you...you know...” she looked to his hazel eyes, and he gave the smallest nod, she didn't need to explain what she was indicating. “I think you'd be surprised how many guys would have just kept on walking,” her lips pursed as she gave pause, but she felt his hand reach across, grasping hers carefully. “So, um...instant brownie points,” a self-deprecating smile crossed her face, Brock giving her hand a light squeeze of encouragement. “I felt...protected...safe,” she continued, her dark green eyes lifting to his hazel ones, “That's a nice feeling. It's a lot rarer than it should be. Plus...” she smiled to herself, a genuine smile that gave Brock a feeling of ease, “...I mean, you know how good you look, it's not exactly a secret.” She gestured toward his face and what was exposed of his torso as Brock shook his head and crossed his arms as he looked away from her, a rare grin on his face as he chuckled.

* * *

The ride back to headquarters was quiet, but comfortable, Brock focused on the road as Helena watched the scenery of the city from the passenger side of the commander's car. Rarely had she experienced such a roller-coaster of emotions, during a lunch date of all things, but as she considered the time they had spent together at the table, she regretted none of it. It had been uncomfortable at moments, but his honesty was, in retrospect, refreshing. It still felt like a first date, and gratefully not like a last date.

The minutes ticked by as they traveled closer to their destination, Helena letting out a soft sigh as headquarters came into view. Brock's eyes darted her way for a moment, but he returned his gaze to the road without comment. He suspected he had an idea what she was thinking, he felt the same way. We wasn't anxious to get back to work, to separate. If he'd proposed dinner instead, they could have had more time, but...

“I'm definitely going to be late,” Helena commented as Brock pulled into his assigned space in the parking garage, turning off the ignition.

Intent on extending their 'date' as long as reasonably possible, Brock stayed at her side as they walked the halls of S.H.I.E.L.D toward her small office, neither of them speaking much as they proceeded, hesitant to procure the notice of others. There were no rules against what they were doing, but somehow it still felt like something best left hidden to their fellow agents. Inevitably, they reached the elevator and stepped inside, though the distance to her floor left them little time alone in the small room.

“I'll speak to your supervisor if she hassles you about this,” Brock declared as he looked to the young woman inches from him.

“That's okay,” Helena reassured as she looked up toward the man at her side. “Not as if it's a common occurrence.”

“What if it becomes one?” Brock seemed to be thinking aloud, but as Helena was about to respond, the elevator gave pause and the doors slid open. She expected him to stay behind, but he began to depart the mobile room, turning around when she didn't immediately follow. Glancing around and finding the area devoid of other agents, Brock reached out his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, Helena grasped it, and the two made their way deeper onto the floor, to her small and simple office.

The floor Helena worked on was a bit understaffed, several offices and work stations empty for the time being, and it seemed that the few people who shared the space were out on lunch themselves. It felt almost strange to be practically alone on the floor, and as she and Brock stepped into her office, it occurred to her that this somehow felt even more intimate than the secluded booth they'd shared, even more than the confines of his vehicle that transported them between the locations.

“So this is where you spend your days?” Brock asked as he looked around the small room, furnished modestly with a desk, computer chair and bookcase, knickknacks that reflected her interests.

“It's not as exciting as going on missions...but it's not as dangerous, either.”

Brock turned his attention back to her as she spoke, leaning against a mostly empty wall, arms crossed just below his chest. “I think you're better off here. I'd rather know you're safe than have you on the S.T.R.I.K.E team.”

“You don't think I'd make a good soldier?” she inquired as she watched him.

“I think you'd be a distraction,” he answered, and she gave a faint smirk in return, stepping a little closer to him.

“A distraction to who?” she pressed, the commander's eyes leaving hers only long enough to verify they were still alone on the floor through the open doorway of her office.

“To me...” he finally stated, knowing it was completely true, knowing it was also what she wanted to hear, and more than willing to appease her wishes. He made no attempt to move from his relaxed position against the wall, watching as she slowly approached him, Helena nervous but attempting to be bold. There was a hint of a grin across Brock's lips as she neared closer, inches between them now. He closed his hazel eyes as she finally reached to touch him, her fingertips grazing the layer of cotton, tight against his chest, her hands drifting carefully upward, closing around the collar of his shirt and tugging him cautiously down toward her-

Brock cursed aloud as his phone began to vibrate manically in his pocket, and he dragged it out with frustration visible in his eyes.

“...Mission?” he heard her soft voice inquire, her disappointment not as subdued as she meant it to be. It wasn't lost on her how important his work was, but that fact didn't make her feel any better about the situation in the moment.

Brock nodded with a grimace as he pocketed his phone, his eyes apologetic as he peered down at her once more before begrudgingly excusing himself and leaving her to watch him stride away and out of sight.

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Find Chapter 4 Here

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Likes, and especially comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated, and if you wish to be tagged in future chapters of this story, please let me know (if tumblr won’t let me tag you, I’ll send you a message instead). I” always respond to comments, usually via new posts so as not to artificially inflate the notes on the actual fic.

If you haven’t read the first chapter, please do! You can find it at the bottom of my masterlist, pinned to my blog (and also linked in my blog bio), reminded that this contains canon divergence, Brock is *not* Hydra in my story, OC belongs to me...enjoy!!

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All the words to what's unspoken Put together everything that's broken Just to see you I'll give you anything

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Nearly a week had passed, and Brock Rumlow still had not encountered the agent he'd saved, though not for lack of trying. The Monday following Helena's recommended long weekend, he'd tracked down her office in hopes of checking up on her, but found the small room vacant. When he returned the next day, it seemed from the displacement of some items in the room that she had returned, however she was still nowhere to be seen, and even though the commander put more effort in to seeking her out, covertly as possible, he still couldn't locate her. He was beginning to feel like a stalker by Wednesday afternoon, as he gathered his mission gear, preparing to leave the country for the next few days on S.H.I.E.L.D business with his S.T.R.I.K.E. crew to rescue some civilians. As he stood at the closed elevator doors, several levels below where he would depart from, he looked up from the floor as the doors parted, and found himself peering into familiar green eyes.

“Hele-...Agent Raine,” he addressed her as he stepped inside, his eyes not leaving her as the doors closed, securing the two of them alone inside.

“Commander Rumlow,” she greeted with a look of surprise mixed with a hint of joy, trying not to stare herself at the brutally handsome, chiseled features of his face. It hadn't escaped her notice the day they had met how attractive he was, but it certainly hadn't been her priority at the time. After a few days off to heal emotionally and mentally from the attempted attack, she was more than pleased to be in his presence once more. “You're looking very...tactical,” she observed with a smile pulling at the corners of her lips as she looked over the garb he wore, before looking back up to his hazel eyes that continued to observe her.

“Mission in France,” he stated, wishing he'd encountered her sooner, the time between them now incredibly limited. “I tried to check up on you, but-”

“I took a few days off,” she confirmed what he already knew, nodding as she looked briefly to the floor, then back up at him. His eyes finally left her face, his vision traveling down her three-quarter length sleeve to the yellowing bruise near her wrist. Her eyes followed his, and she sighed as her sight landed where his had. “It's just a couple of ugly bruises, they're already turning yellow, so...they'll be gone soon. Probably before you get back...,” she finished, both of them looking toward the doors as the small room shuddered to a stop, a few more agents dressed in tactical gear stepping inside. Though the distance between them did not physically change as the elevator rose, words ceased between Brock and Helena in the presence of the others, as if their conversation was somehow forbidden to the ears of others. It occurred to Brock that they had likely traveled far past whatever floor the female agent at his side had intended to step onto, but he didn't mention it. Rumlow didn't exactly mind her standing at his side.

When they finally reached his intended floor, the other men looked toward the two of them curiously before stepping off, Brock pressing a button as the mission-fitted agents left to close the doors, the elevator remaining stationary. “This is my stop,” he finally vocalized as he looked upon her, Helena's eyes raising to greet his once more, Brock swallowing hard as if he were apprehensive to leave her.

“I figured,” she responded softly, a bit defeated, and Rumlow's desire to stay where he was only solidified.

“I...I hoped I'd run into you again before I had to leave...I hoped it would be longer than a few minutes, but...” he wasn't even positive what he was trying to communicate.

“...Me, too,” she finally answered, reaching out a hand to the button that would open the doors again. “I hope I'll see you when you get back,” her voice sounded hopeful as she stared down at the shiny metal of the floor panels, before raising her gaze to his sculpted features again.

“Absolutely,” Brock confirmed with a smile he couldn't keep off his face, taking a step backwards toward the open doors, his eyes not leaving hers for as long as he could manage.

Brock began to lift his hand to mirror the wave of her hand as the closing metal doors finally separated them.

* * *

Commander Rumlow wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead with a towel as he sat down at one of the many pieces of workout equipment in the well equipped gym within S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters. It had been a couple of days since he had returned from France with his crew, and he was doing his best to distract himself from him desire to track down the agent he couldn't shake from his mind once more. This early in the morning, this close to the beginning of her shift...he didn't want to come across as too eager. Though she wasn't under his command, and therefore did not breach any ethics rules regarding potential relationships, he was still hesitant to approach. It wasn't that he didn't want to pursue the young woman, but he had a reputation for being, well...an intimidating hard-ass, and he didn't want her to feel any undue pressure after her recent run-in with the now deceased agent who had tried to attack her. He tried to focus on counting his reps as he brought his fists together in front of him, held, slowly brought his arms back to his sides, brought them together again. He was oblivious to everyone around him, including the agent working out close by who was just trying to catch his attention.

“Rumlow,” Brock finally snapped out of his concentration to look in the direction of the voice.

“What?!” he huffed, bring his arms together again.

The lower-ranking agent answered in a lowered voice, “You've got an admirer,” nodding his head toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that separated the gym area from the hallway. Brock released his grip on the rubberized handles, mouth partially opened as he let out puffs of air, and looked toward the large pane of glass. He was on his feet before his brain could even register his own movements, his hand reaching for the towel again as he wiped sweat from his face, chest, ruffling his hair as he strode toward the onlooker.

“Hey, don't...Where do you think you're going?” Brock asked with a grin as Helena tried to slip out of sight, embarrassed. She paused with her back to him for a brief moment before turning back to face him as he stepped into the door-less opening, his hands lightly grasping the frame of the entrance to the gym area. Both of their faces were flushed, Brock's from his workout, Helena's from getting caught ogling him from a distance. “Plenty of room in there for the both of us...don't let me stop you.”

“No, I'm, uh...I'm on the clock,” she managed, “I'm still a little behind from the days I missed.”

“You sure?” he inquired, the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “I won't tell if you don't.”

“I'm not really a gym person,” she replied, looking through the glass at the array of intimidating equipment, looking for anything to distract her from the shirtless commander in front of her.

“Scared?” he asked, his voice a little quieter, Helena's eyes returning to meet his gaze, trying to not to look at the rest of him. “It's all safe, nothing in there's gonna bite you...Or are you afraid to get a little sweaty?” Helena grinned and bit her lip as she slightly shook her head, biting back the response she'd like to make.

“You're a little shameless,” she replied, finally letting her eyes wander as he looked down to the carpeted floor, hiding his own grin. He closed his eyes as he felt her fingers reach out and push some of his sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, appreciating the feel of such a gentle touch.

“Maybe a little,” he responded aloud, raising his face again, slender fingers descending with his movement, grazing the scruff that roughened his features, finally drawing her hand away again. “Well if you ever need a spotter, I've got your back...I won't let you get hurt.”

There was silence between them for a few moments, before Helena finally spoke up again. “So...I take it your mission was successful?”

Brock nodded, stepping out further into the hallway, leaning his weight against the transparent wall. “Is that really what you wanna ask me,” his voice had quieted, as if the conversation were a secret. When she looked toward the floor again, he reached out without thinking and carefully took hold of her chin, guiding her face back up to meet his gaze. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” she breathed, holding his gaze, not shying away from his gloved hand as his bare fingertips grazed her jaw, his thumb dangerously close to her lips.

“...Why do you look away from me?”

At least a dozen reasons ran through her mind. He intimidated her, he flustered her, he was nearly overwhelming to her in the most delicious way... “You make me feel...unprofessional,” she finally managed, and she swallowed as he took a step closer. As his thumb brushed her lips, her body felt electric, charged by his faint touch, and as she let out a shallow breath, the sound of a heavy dumbbell smashing into the ground pulled her out of her haze. Her eyes left his and she glanced through the glass into the gym, taking note of the fact that every agent within was staring at the two of them. “Um...I should get back to my work,” she stammered, and Brock's hand finally left her skin. “Your, uh...fellow gym rats are staring.”

Brock shifted his gaze from her features to the large room beside them, his brows furrowing as every individual within suddenly began to busy themselves with their workouts again. He shook his head and sighed, returning his attention to the young woman before him, an apologetic look on behalf of his men on his face.

“Maybe...” she caught herself unconsciously looking away from his gaze again, forced herself to keep her eyes on his, “maybe we can get lunch together this week? My treat?” Brock's features softened as he held her gaze, giving a nod before she excused herself. He didn't re-enter the gym until she was out of sight.

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Find Chapter 3 Here

☠️💙☠️💙☠️💙☠️💙☠️💙☠️💙☠️💙☠️

Likes, and especially comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated, and if you wish to be tagged in future chapters of this story, please let me know (if tumblr won’t let me tag you, I’ll send you a message instead). I” always respond to comments, usually via new posts so as not to artificially inflate the notes on the actual fic.