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Brock knows when he’s arrived even before the Quinjet lands. It’s this eerie extraordinary connection they have to each other that he still hasn’t been able to figure out but is certainly something he believes strongly enough in that gets him to keep a silver ring hanging off his dog tags and the title of being his husband.
Hill also breezes by and lets him know with a coy smirk across her face, folders in hand like she has somewhere to go but he knows she doesn’t, she just loves tugging his chain and he fights off the urge to roll his eyes.
He stands near the elevator while the main floor is buzzing with consoles and agents, soft conversations happening around him and various other noises but it all seems to quiet down when one by one half of the Avengers show up for debrief, some barely held together like Barton who has his arm in a sling and a bandage over one eye. Widow supports his one side and helps him along so he’s not putting weight on the limp he’s gained but they both give him a smile that he knows is less polite and more all knowing that something’s about to go down. Well he’s not going to give them the benefit, he hopes whatever bet they started up will end in failure, but then again he does have a bone to pick with Jack.
Stark follows after with a stupid giddy grin and a clap across his shoulder and he stiffens to it, eyeing him gruffly and this time tries not to growl angrily when the asshole laughs behind him, shuffling towards the debrief like the others. At least Rogers and Barnes have the decency to smile like they always do, the way he knows, but it was one of those parental ones they do as if they’re afraid if they don’t, somehow Rollins’ corpse will be found at the city dump at some point.
He’s not that mad. Really, he’s not.
Turning to look back around the room, some eyes look away and he scowls that they’ve become some kind of show to watch, tilting his head forward again and there he is. Fixed before the elevator doors, last one off and standing motionless and silent still in his gear; all in black with the discreet SHIELD on one tight bicep. He looks a little like he took a roll in the mud and he probably did while fighting, his shirt is torn at one end from what he’s sure is from a knife and since he’s still standing upright, Brock knows it’s only superficial.
There’s patches of blood caked all over him, splattered bits of something across his face that looks like he tried to use his arm to rub it off but couldn’t have honestly cared less and most likely he didn’t because he knew Jack loved fighting, loved it so much that he wasn’t affected by how he looked after, too busy thinking about it in the aftermath, getting high off the endorphins and there’s been more than a few times they’ve done it right after, cleanliness be damned.
Brock admires how his hair is still perfectly slicked back despite the fact that he can clearly see it’s also coated in blood as well as grime. Bruises riddled across his face and along his neck before disappearing under his collar where he’s sure he’s got a good few hidden around his chest and ribs. His lips twist.
“It’s good of ya to show yer face alive after not sayin’ a word to leavin’.”
“I take it you’re in a bad mood from it now.” Jack responds with a curl of his mouth.
Drawing in a terse breath, Brock locks eyes with him, “One month, three days.”
There’s a much more noticeable lack of anything happening around them all of a sudden, collective intakes of breath from other agents and technicians who are suddenly more interested in them than their work. Then again, they are intimately aware of how Commander Rumlow has a short fuse especially when the reason behind it is usually because of Rollins.
Pausing to evaluate him, Jack’s brows shift only slightly, “So you are in a bad mood.”
Truth of the matter was that he was a ball of pissed off for the past few weeks and it wasn’t because of his husband. It was more because of the fact that he was put on desk duty because of an injury that was fine after a few days but was ordered to take in the full duration to recover from it. By the time he could prove that he was back to excellent health, there was only one hostage rescue he was able to take part in. The rest of the time it was numbing paperwork he really had no interest in doing, practically vibrating out of his skin from the lack of something better to do. He spent a lot of his off time in the gym but it really didn’t help much, there were better ways he could relieve the tension but Jack of course decided to take off with nothing but a note that said they were on radio silence so only Fury got to know how the group was really doing. Now his husband was back and looking like he had taken a stroll through a minefield while on a smoke break and all Brock had been doing was losing his mind and trying not to get into too much trouble by himself.
Jack wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his wrist, at some point he must have split his lip open but it’s quietly healing away right then, his green eyes roaming across his face in that smoldering way he does that makes Brock’s skin prickle in a very specific way.
“Stop lookin’ at me that way and ‘sides, yer the fucker that- ”
“I missed you.” Jack interrupts over him like he wasn’t even speaking, stepping up closer into his space and pressing a hand to his hip.
Standing there stunned, the touch there is familiar and irritatingly calming to him, hand large and warm as it smooths itself along to the small of his back and they’re almost chest to chest. It makes Brock forget why he was ready to face off with him in front of everyone without giving a shit. He can feel the warm caress of Jack’s breath against his skin, the way his lips press together after saying his peace and waiting for a reaction, almost always patient and collected. From here Brock can see mottled bruises beneath new ones, cuts healing at various stages of time and even a jagged scar at his clavicle that’s a week old or so, most likely from a knife attack. He thinks about what happened to the other person if that’s what Jack got out of it and he swallows, trying to hide the flit of pride that emerges and settles inside his belly.
“I- ” His throat feels dry and it strains his voice a little, swallowing before he tries again, “Got everythin’ finished then, on your little mission?”
Jack smirks as he nods to him, like he can clearly read Brock’s mind and sometimes he has to wonder about that, his husband’s hand going dangerously south and just maybe Brock arches in anticipation despite the fact that they have an audience and these fuckers don’t deserve to watch them having their reunion in public. Yelling at Jack in front of people was one thing, getting his ass groped and showing he liked it was another. They weren’t Barnes and Rogers.
He reaches down and wrenches Jack’s hand away, giving it a sharp twist just for the fun of it because despite being distracted, he wasn’t going to forget being left here alone. Jack doesn’t react to it, only continues staring at him like he wants to eat him alive and Brock ignores the way his body wants to react to all the attention. Crinkling his nose, he instead gestures towards his outfit, “Well, at least you can debrief and get a damn shower, you stink like a fuckin’ blood-soaked sewer.”
“Should gimmie a kiss first, Sweetheart. I’m alive aren’t I?”
Jack tilts his head down in an attempt to steal one and Brock pulls his head away, “Get lost. That mouth ain’t goin’ anywhere near mine before ya take a damn shower.”
“That ain’t what you said last time we were sent out.” Jack murmurs lowly by his ear. “By the way, you smell awfully good today.”
Brock knows when Jack is being a shithead and despite being fully aware of that fact, he still blushes all the way into his hairline over it. He has no idea how this Sasquatch managed to convince him to marry him.
“Maybe if you dunk your head under a cold faucet you can get your brain outta the gutter for five fuckin’ minutes and take a real shower, maybe get into some clean clothes too then we’ll talk.”
Looking like he’s considering the idea, Jack licks his lips as he continues to eye him in a way he shouldn’t be allowed to in public before nodding. He draws away and grips his belt with both hands, stretching out his back as he straightens himself out while his soiled shirt stretches obscenely over muscles, “Sounds like a good idea. I’ll need a hot shower after the debriefing to make sure I get all the kinks out, alone.” He eyes him with a wandering gaze, “Might take a nice long nap too while I’m at it.”
“Good.” Brock grounds out, “Kindly fuck off then.”
Jack has the audacity to wink before moving past him and Brock follows with his eyes, watching as he’s sauntering towards the rest of the team waiting it out for him. Suddenly Brock has no idea what to do anymore, feeling absolutely flustered and a little irritable again. He does a quick scan over the entire room, no one daring to make eye contact with him and back to work as usual. He tries his best to not think about how Jack will be once he sits through everything and finally gets back home. How he’ll step into their bedroom and slowly peel himself out of those clothes he had on, body long and so goddamn perfect. Brock swallows as he takes himself back to his desk and daydreams about Jack standing under the heavy-duty spray of their shower all wet and glistening, beads of water licking down his skin and him not there to see it or even join in.
He pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation before glaring down at one of the folders sitting there and he begins to get back into the grind of it. He lasts through a few files while his foot taps against the floor and his thoughts continually pull him back to very dangerous thoughts before he retracts himself out of his seat and grabs his jacket.
Barton waves to him as he goes by, not sure if he was aware he timed himself to leave at the same moment as the debrief or if it was coincidence but he just goes and can’t avoid the grin across the Avenger’s face, “Eat shit, Barton.”
He’s in the elevator and so is Jack while everyone else seems to avoid it and they slowly fall in line with each other, bodies side by side and so close they could feel each other’s radiating heat. Brock hits the button for the parkade level and stuffs his hands in his pockets to avoid getting himself into trouble, at least not until they make it inside the front door that is.
From his peripheral vision he can see that corner tug of Jack’s mouth, subtle across a generally expressionless face but it is there and Brock scoffs under his breath.
“Don’t act all cocky, it’s been over a damn month.”
Jack says nothing, he only smirks wider.