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There’s muffled gunshot, it’s what breaks Brock out of his sleep, or what he can call sleep. The shot is distinct and while others may assume it’s something else. He knows that sound.
There’s quick movement just outside the door, more down a corridor, some shouting and Brock hopes.
His head is ringing from the goon roughing him up earlier, the room he’s locked in too dark to make out anything except for the thin stream of light under the door. He squints and is reminded again he shouldn’t when his head throbs, more feet passing and shadows going by but no one stops and it only makes him wonder what’s going on.
He hopes whoever they are, they’re giving everyone what they damn deserve for taking him captive. The shouts begin to pick up, more frantic but despite that, he still can’t really tell what’s being said.
Brock’s not sure if he’ll be able to move much if he’s left to his own devices. There’s old wounds still healing and fresh ones that make it hard to move. He’s sore all over despite forcing himself to stand in the ready, a knife in hand he’s managed to smuggle. He could jimmy the electronic lock sure, but he had no idea what was waiting outside for him and waiting was only making everything hurt worse.
And then, like how it started, it suddenly falls quiet. Footsteps stop and no one shouts anymore. Brock grips tighter to his knife and warily moves to the back of the tiny room. His hand is trembling and he has to will himself to keep a firm grip, to remember to as he keeps cataloguing all that’s wrong with his body.
He sucks in a sharp breath when someone appears before the door, dark boots blocking the stream of light and Brock carefully hides the knife back, tries to make himself look unarmed the best he can and just too wounded, letting whoever it is to keep their guard down. He won’t be done in without a fight, at least he has that.
The lock clicks, green from red and the panel pleasant beeps, the door opening. Brock feels his stomach lurch and he presses the discomfort down and away like the rest of himself. It’s not fair, it isn’t. This isn’t how he planned to go out, with no one around, probably shot in the head like a dog in the middle of nowhere. He was sure that’s what was about to happen, what they would tell some HYDRA low life to do before-
“Jack?”
Brock’s always been vicious in close combat situations, his fight or flight instincts turning over in hard overdrive when he’s backed into a corner but the moment he makes out the tall figure against the brightness the room behind him all of his strength slips away, arm dropping back to his side. Those green eyes haunt him and he almost wonders if he’s dreaming. It’s the strong stench of death that tells him he’s not, the coppery scent invading his senses and coating the back of his throat. It glistens against the dark contrast of Jack’s tac gear, bits of splatter settle against his scruff, he’s unsure about the matter clinging into his hair or better still, doesn’t want to know. In any case, Jack doesn’t work for SHIELD anymore so he’s clearly here on his own.
Jack lets out a soft sigh, relaxed and content. “There you are.”
Brock blinks, again trying to come up with how much time has passed but he fails yet again, his headache pounding against his skull. He remembers the last time he saw him, like it was just a day ago. That’s clear, mostly because he’s been replaying it over and over again to keep himself sane. Brock had enough, he tried to get it, to understand Jack but he couldn’t and he finally gets the balls to leave him.
It worked; he tried to run his own life again the way he wanted to and despite the uneasy feeling he was being watched, he makes himself not react to it, it was good. Real good until this mess happened and he had figured he was left to figure it out on his own, he wasn’t with SHIELD anymore either.
“I know you said not to contact you again.” Jack speaks up, a little unhappily as he shrugs in an almost boyish way. He cleans his combat knife against the thigh of his pants before sheathing it again, fingerless gloves on his hands as he wipes them down right after.
Brock stares at how not a strand of Jack’s hair is out of place, still perfect despite the rest of him; he still looks handsome no matter how coated in blood he is and the thought almost makes him bubble up with hysterical laughter. Of course it’s Jack who shows up, of course. Who else would be able to find him? Jack’s always been able to track him, he’s naturally gifted with the ability to stalk, it makes Brock’s defenses slip a bit more. He even might be a little proud.
He definitely doesn’t flinch to the long swift movements of Jack crossing the room and instead he focuses his gaze past him to the metallic looking hallway he emerged from.
There’s blood, so much blood, a lot more than he guessed earlier. Arterial spray cascades the walls and pools at the floor. Bodies lay in awkward angles, he’s sure at least two of them shouldn’t still have their heads attached from how deep the lacerations looked from here. A wave of nausea washed over him and his eyes slip closed. Jack was clearly showing his emotions through actions, he was usually more precise and clean about it. Brock’s unsure if that’s a good or bad thing in this situation.
“Baby.” Jack whispers, his large warm hand cupping at the back of his neck, heavy and reminding him he was there. “Hey.”
Taking his time to open his eyes, he stares back at Jack in awe. He’s unsure of if he should speak but he’s filled with so many questions. “How’d ya even know? To look fer me?”
Jack’s eyes are soft, gentle even when he looks at him, a small smile curling at his lips. It feels like there’s a whole other person before him compared to who was out there. Brock’s associated those minor things with so many good memories for such a long time, his chest aches a little.
“I began to worry when you didn’t come home like you usually do. After a couple days, I broke in.” Jack confesses it with such ease and a casual shrug, even Brock isn’t surprised. “I know you. You’d never just up and run away, even if you hate me. You’d still leave some sort of sign.”
“I couldn’t ever hate ya.” Brock blurts out before processing everything and he nods fervently, “Yer right, I woulda left somethin'.” He’s aware of how terrified he should be, but he doesn’t care right now.
“I couldn’t..” Jack’s hand slides up the nape of his neck. It’s deliberate and Brock presses down a shiver as Jack’s gaze darkens, “I couldn’t let anything happen to you, so I had to break the rules.”
The beat of his heart’s been picking up and Brock’s unsure if it’s because he’s so close to danger or because someone’s finally getting him out of here. Jack’s concern is pure and earnest though and at least Brock has that, it’s something.
“I’m sorry- ”
Brock swallows thickly, mouth dropping open but he hesitates as he stares back at this man. He won’t fall back into this, he can’t. “Don’t apologize, no one else woulda found me. No one, ‘cept you.”
Jack seems to unwind over that, shoulders easing and his light smile widens just a little bit, pleased. It’s unnerving, or Brock thinks it should be, right now he remembers the first time he saw him smile like that. It always been charming and almost devilish in it’s own way no matter what’s caused it to appear.
He leans in and kisses him, like they’ve never been apart, like they never had this discussion on boundaries and restraining orders that Jack curiously respected but easily managed to keep himself around. He can’t kiss him back but he doesn’t pull away; lips soft and careful, that familiar rough drag of his scruff. Brock’s hands twitch at his sides, knife still gripped in one hand, the other wanting to touch.
“You don’t know how much I’ve missed you.” Jack practically purrs against his lips. His free hand brushes against Brock’s arm, coaxing him to hand over the weapon.
Brock finds he can’t refuse him, allowing Jack to take the knife away. Red flags scream in his brain like they always do but he finds right now he can’t fight him off even if he wanted to. To be honest, he’s relieved he doesn’t have to, he wants to be in Jack’s orbit and be his only focus. They’re still in a bad place with God knows what else HYDRA has around in the vicinity. They both know intimately what the organization is capable of but he also knows Jack. He knows he won’t let anyone touch a hair on his head if he can help it and his chest tightens to the thought, face flushing warm when Jack’s face brightens a bit more the moment he takes it.
“You’re safe now.” Jack tells him. It’s filled with so much earnest confidence that Brock knows it’s the truth and he allows himself to be pulled in for an embrace.
It’s only the scent of blood he takes in at first, then it’s of gunpowder and stale sweat. The lingering traces of Jack’s soap just barely make its way through all of that, pine has always reminded him of home for as long as Jack’s been around and he’s never been able to let it go. He’s had to throw things away, burn them to forget but it always came back. He sinks in deeper, buries his nose to the strongest point near the crook of Jack’s neck and inhales as deeply as he can.
“Shouldn’t be stalkin’ yer ex, gonna get arrested fer that shit, Rollins.” Brock lectures him without much heat behind it, it’s mainly to make himself feel like he tried at least something even if they both knew it didn’t much matter. If Jack hadn’t shown up, he’d probably be dead soon.
“It would take time, but I’d find you anywhere you go.”
“Romantic.” Brock says flatly and Jack huffs out a small laugh.
Brock feels him break out in a grin afterwards, teeth glancing against his earlobe. He thinks about all those news reports of people attacking others with just their teeth, how Jack could easily do the same to him if he wanted to. Let him bleed to death for abandoning him. He doesn’t though, Jack only brushes his nose along the curve of Brock’s ear, hot breath dancing against skin and Brock allows his eyes to flutter closed. There’s been a vacant gnawing space since Jack’s been gone, he can’t feel it anymore.
“Like they’d keep me in their for long.” Jack mumbles lowly. It’s supposed to be a joke, Brock supposes, but he’s sure if Jack tried to get out, he’d manage.
“Been in way too many sticky situations fer ‘em to keep you in a regular prison but knowin’ how stupid they can be, m’sure you’d end up there and be out real quick.”
Jack leans back just enough so they’re face to face and Brock really takes a moment to think about that. Allows his eyes to open just before he’s given another kiss, returning it this time. He doesn’t argue when Jack goes through a pack at his side and there’s a wrapper of non-slip socks, kneeling down to put them onto Brock’s sore feet with so much care. Jack stands again, only to pick him up like he’s the most important thing in the world and it’s most likely true; Brock drapes an arm around broad shoulders and they share a private gaze, one they always held around mixed company.
The fact they can still do that so easily makes Brock’s heart ache. As much as he tries to deny himself, he’s missed Jack, tightening the arm around him. It doesn’t help when Jack only pressed another kiss to his lips, giving him that comfort he’s always associated with him. It’s not fair but he’s hopeless to resist, Jack came for him, has always made sure he was safe. It wasn’t trivial or some unforeseen decision, this is always how Jack is with him.
He receives another kiss and a murmur that he’s out of danger now, like Jack can sense his ongoing internal struggle and it’s what makes Brock almost break down in hysterics. It doesn’t help that he’s winding down now and everything that had temporarily slipped away came back in full force. His entire body hurts and while Brock’s known to endure, he can’t help but become dead weight in Jack’s arms.
Jack doesn’t even seem to mind, lips pressed to his temple, Brock feels protected when a mere few hours he was ready for death. Jack found him, made it his mission to when no one else cared. There’s a nagging sensation at the back of his mind, an ongoing tug that refuses to be ignored. It’s not like he’s never trusted his instincts, because he does, constantly, but he’s not in the mood, not when he’s finally got someone on his side. Maybe when he’s more lucid he’d have a lot more to say but right now he only drops his head against Jack’s shoulder and can’t seem to care anymore.
He tucks his face away more, presses it against the crook of Jack’s neck when they begin moving. Brock manages to avoid any chance of seeing the trail of death that ended in the hallway where more than the scent of blood lingers in the air, thick and heavy. It’s the fetid, sharp smell of vomit lingering in the air that makes him dizzy and he can’t even imagine what’s gone on. Usually it’d be something Brock would put himself front row with, watch Jack while working alongside with him but while he knows Jack’s been ..efficient, Brock just wants to get out.
He can’t find himself to care over how quiet it is, only Jack’s boots barely making a sound as he takes quick steps and it should be unnerving after being so used to the constant movements carried on. He’s more relieved instead, a smile touching Jack’s skin because he doesn’t have to look around to know he made every single one of them pay no matter what their story was. Brock presses in tighter, Jack came for him.
Tears press at the corners of Brock’s eyes but he doesn’t cry, he doesn’t. The sensation of madness overwhelming him because he can’t even settle on how disturbing it is to finally feel safe and also being in Jack’s arms. It’s been longer than his capture, longer than switching jobs or not really having much of a social life. It’s never been the same since he told Jack to get the hell out because of all the signs. But nothing’s felt right in the world since, no matter how much he’s told himself he was better off without him by his side. Brock knows it’s fucked up, he knows, but he loves Jack with all his heart and always has, even if he was lying to himself that he didn’t. No one else knows him better and no one else ever could.
There was a contentment in it when he wasn’t fighting with himself, Jack’s lips brush against his temple, another fleeting kiss of comfort. Brock allows it to take over, to wash over him and seep into the marrow of his bones. He still avoids the grisly path of destruction the best he can when he draws away from hiding and there’s a brief flash of a corpse lying face down and wearing a lab coat soaked with so much blood. The man’s been eviscerated from what he can tell and again, so much overkill.
“You were angry.” It’s not a question and his eyes study the way Jack’s jaw tenses, still staring ahead of them, alert for any trouble.
“They took you away from me.” Is all he says, so easily. ‘This is nothing’ is left unsaid, it’s unnecessary when Brock knows what Jack’s capable of.
It sums up the moment for the both of them and Brock presses a chaste kiss to Jack’s jaw to ease away the stern lines there. It leaves Jack to make a sound of contentment instead, the one he always makes when they tangle up around each other in bed and whispers over and over again just how much he loves him. Brock’s missed that too, their little bubble of serenity.
The further they go, the more curious Brock becomes, the tide of bodies proving just how much Jack meant to him and what kind of hell he created to get him back. It’s almost like some grand display of affection Brock finds he enjoys the more he stares; distinct signatures of how Jack prefers to kill all laid out around them and soon thoughts stray to how many were simply choked to death with those same two hands that currently cradled Brock in his arms.
It goes hand in hand with lips brushing along to side of his face or the squeeze of a hand at the back of Brock’s throat when they’re about to walk into something much worse than what he’s seeing and Jack wants him to look away. It’s not about the gore, Brock knows because he’s seen a lot of bad that the images are burned into his mind. It’s just excessive and careless right here, a path of indiscriminate destruction when Jack usually has a precise and systematic order to his work. It’s that clumsy embarrassment he’s now feeling for losing control that Brock knows he doesn’t want him to see, so he doesn’t.
It’s eerie when they get outside, a soft rush of wind blowing by and it’s snowing down around them, a foot deep in already and three guards coloring the ground red. Jack sets him down and Brock can’t help squint up at the darkened sky, palm held out to feel the flakes land against his skin and watches it melt. It wasn’t snowing the last time he was outside but then again, this doesn’t look anything like back home.
He shifts his gaze to Jack, clearly waiting for Brock to adjust, patient as always and it makes him smile. Jack’s not so bad, he just cares so much and Brock’s not sure how someone can love so fiercely..
“I didn’t stop though..” He mumbles lowly, staring into green eyes. “I couldn’t stop myself from feelin’ the way I do ‘bout you.”
Jack leans his head in, kisses him with a new relief, tongue slipping into his mouth. Brock’s aware it’s cold and he should be shivering but Jack’s warm and always has been, fingers slipping into blood streaked hair and giving it a light tug.
“Gonna keep you warm, Baby.” Jack promises, his own hand cradling the back of Brock’s head so tenderly that Brock aches to be somewhere where those hands can get at every inch of him once again. “I know you hate the cold.”
They press their foreheads together, noses nestled against each other and Brock drinks in the sight of him, sees up close the heavy toll it’s taken on Jack when he’s not there. Brock’s had his own hard nights, worried Jack wasn’t doing anything to get enough shut eye. It wasn’t a mystery he could only really sleep when Brock was next to him, a long running habit Brock’s never been able to break even when things had started to get patchy. Something in it soothed him as well, wanted to brush his fingers in dark hair and take care of Jack, always so docile when he was asleep and capable of so much violence when awake.
“Still not sleepin’ right?”
Jack swallows, eyes slipping closed and doesn’t answer but Brock doesn’t need one. He pets his hair, fingers shaking when they trace the ball chain along the back of Jack’s neck. Dog tags and a wedding band he doesn’t have to look for to make sure, he knows it’s there. One day they were gonna make it official, there just wasn’t a rush. He presses in another kiss at the corner of Jack’s mouth, trying to smother the wave of unhappiness at the realization they took Brock’s away, fingers tangling around the chain almost desperately, “Come home with me. Please.”
There’s no need to beg, but Brock wants to and Jack stares at him when he opens his eyes, soft and gentle, looks at him like he’s always been the moon and Brock’s never believed that shit until now.
Jack ducks his head away, digs into a side pocket and there’s a familiar jingling sound Brock knows very well.
“They’re a little dirty..” Jack begins with a frown, looking disappointed in himself, but Brock’s reaching for them. His dog tags and his matching ring still together and maybe a little crimson but nothing a good clean can’t rid.
Jack takes them back gingerly so he can drape the ball chain around Brock’s neck and he stares down at them, relief taking over. Brock takes Jack’s face and kisses him hard and fierce, murmuring how in love he is with him and promising him everything all over again. Jack only returns the kisses with the same intensity, his fingers curling around a fistful of Brock’s hair to keep him close and take his breath away.
Brock’s simple hospital socks are soaked, foot nudging against dead frozen fingers and he’s reminded again there’s a good mess of bodies inside and an alarm that was surely set off. They have to go and soon, his toes feel tacky and he realizes it’s not the snow though he can’t bring himself to care, arms tightening around Jack’s neck as he lets Jack smother him possessively once more.
“I won’t let anyone take you ever again.” Jack promises, a sharpness to his voice and Brock shakes his head.
“Don’t worry about that right now, yeah? Let’s go home, jus need ya tonight.”
Jack stops fretting momentarily, nodding as he rubs his face against Brock’s cheek like an affectionate oversized cat, “I’ll come back with you for more than a night, Sweetheart. All you need to do is ask, I’m always keeping an eye on you.”
Brock sighs contently. He’s not losing Jack ever again, ignoring the dizzy spell hitting him as he’s gathered up again to be carried in whatever Jack showed up in. His eyes feel heavy as he drops against awaiting shoulder and feels he can finally get some actual rest.
Maybe in the morning he’ll realize what he’s done. He hopes he doesn’t though.