She's a little stiff, severely coffee deprived and more than a little jet lagged, but Darcy Lewis still trusts her eyes. Another quick eye rub and a sip of the swill they're trying to pass off as coffee and her eyes are focused enough to confirm that yes, there is a gorgeous, muscle-y man sitting in the same break room as her. She shifts slightly and averts her eyes when she hears him clear his throat and flip another page in his book. She wants to keep her title of 'Jane Foster's assistant' and not add 'part-time creeper' to it. He takes a sip of his drink and Darcy peeps over the top of her iPhone to watch his Adam's apple bob as he reaches up to scratch his stubbly cheek. That's when she decides to stop being chicken shit and asks, "So, do they keep all the good coffee for the higher ups or does everyone suffer through this liquid form of disappointment?"
The man looks up at her, almost surprised and slightly alarmed to find anyone else in the room with him which she finds hard to believe because he looks too soldier-y to be in S.H.I.E.L.D. and be legitimately startled by her. Even suits like Coulson have eyes in the backs of their heads and a super sixth sense. He takes out his wireless ear buds and flashes a nice smile at her.
"I'm afraid that you just have to play Russian roulette with your taste buds when it comes to the coffee pots in all of the break rooms and cafeterias. Usually if someone likes you enough they'll let you know which room is a little better than the others. But if they don't, well, they usually send you to this room." He tells her as he takes another sip of his coffee that is clearly from a superior break room. The paper cup is black with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo and aside from looking way cooler than her boring beige cup; his also looks way larger and way sturdier. He goes on to explain that the trainee cafeteria chefs usually send their attempts here and they often... experiment with their drinks. Of course she'd end up in what is essentially the hazing break room. Darcy pops the lid off of her cup and watches the suspiciously blue tinted mystery drink slosh around.
"So possibly liquefied field agents and eau de jet fuel?" Her face is twisted in disgust as she walks closer to his side of the room and throws away her coffee. Darcy started to turn and ask him where they good stuff was but she froze, feeling his eyes drag up her jegging and wrinkled sweater clad body. She snorted, rolling her eyes and adjusted her glasses, "so if you're done cataloging my post commercial airline marathon couture, I'd really like to get the directions to the best coffee spot in this building before I go into zombie mode from caffeine withdrawals. And trust me when I say that if Thor can't stop me then you won't be able to either." She huffed, crossing her arms as a laugh far more genuine sounding than she expected escapes him. He locks eyes with her and there is bona fide amusement there along with another look she was too familiar with. He smirks and stands up, walking slowly until he closes the distance between them. He's tall and very muscle-y all over and should be banned from wearing sleeves. Forever.
"I'm not sure you have clearance high enough for that one, miss?"
"Lewis," she says as she holds out a thankfully not sweaty hand "Darcy Lewis, but you can call me whatever you want if you get me to somewhere with good coffee within the next 10 minutes Mister?" she hopes she's more "casual encounter" seductive and not "Busty Secretary Wants Hot Boss" seductive. At any other time she wouldn't mind getting bent over by Mr. Muscles in the middle of the break room but right now, she's got a flight to catch with Erik and Jane in less than three hours and she's sure she'd be in no shape to do another eight hour flight without coffee. But his hand is warm and dry against hers and his thumb is doing that circle thing you read about in trashy novels and it feels great and shit, she's gonna find the strength to go on after he's done -
"Rumlow, Brock Rumlow, and I'd be more than happy to escort you there, Ms. Lewis." He let's go of her hand and offers his arm out for her to hold on to. His arm is firm and warm and his skin is deceptively smooth. Darcy swears to herself that she will have her cake and eat it too with this guy, one way or another.
When they finally get to the break room after a picturesque elevator ride, he gets their coffee ready and Darcy sends a quick text to Jane to let her know she might be running a little late. "Getting some coffee with hot man on the side. Don't miss me too much!"
During their coffee rendezvous, Darcy sadly doesn't get bent over a counter with her head dangerously close to a hot coffee pot nor or even kiss him, but the coffee he gets them is good and the conversation is even better. He definitely checked her out the entire time and was totally digging her extensive knowledge on the political climate of Eastern Europe during the early 2000s, which she really doesn't remember how the conversation got to that but Brock was impressed and that's what counts. And she liked the way he took what she was saying seriously, how he didn't interrupt her, and managed to actually contribute to the subject instead of making it about him. The memory of the way his jaw clenched and his eyes shined when he tried and failed to hold in a laugh at her inappropriate Bush administration jokes would be one of her last thoughts before she went to sleep for an entire week. When their time was up Brock slyly asked for Darcy's number and she enthusiastically gave it to him.
They talked, texted, and FaceTimed whenever they managed to find the time between her travels with the Science Crew and his business with S.T.R.I.K.E. Mostly about coffee and coffee paraphernalia. Brock has an extensive knowledge of the fancy old world methods that makes her a little bit jealous because that's just so damn classy. But Darcy is damn good at turning big box bargain instant mix into something good enough to pass for an average cup at a mid-level coffee chain. Brock freely admits that knowing how to ground your beans and the appropriate amount of milk to add doesn't mean shit when the best thing you've got to work with is a sketchy range with a single pot. Of course their conversations aren't always about coffee. There are plenty of late night texts full of innuendo, drunken declarations and very bold plans concerning the first thing they'll do when they see each other. While Darcy like the idea of the break room rendezvous, Brock suggests that a stalled glass elevator at night would be slightly more comfortable. He confides in her that he doesn't think that he's a very good man but he believes that his cause and what he fights for makes him good enough. He tells her the reason why he hasn't settled down is because he believes he could make the world a little bit better for his family. Darcy confesses that Culver was actually her second choice and she only chose to go there to get further away from home. She also tells him that she's worried that she would be a bad mother because Darcy was also her paternal grandmother's name and that woman was most certainly not a good mother. Names have power and unwanted legacies, she tells him. This continues until the news reports come in. He doesn't respond to her after that but she continues to send messages well after S.H.I.E.L.D. reboots. After three months of flirting and friendship and coffee tips, the only thing she has to show for it is a couple of texts and some decent memories.
She's a little dizzy, happy and probably well into the territory of being buzzed, but Darcy still trusts her eyes. She's felt eyes on her the entire night and has seen a shadowy figure move in her peripheral. She brushed it off thinking that maybe it was the Winter- Buck- James- Mr. Barnes, or whatever the hell name isn't making him flip his shit for the week, is staring/observing/cataloging her again. Darcy's official position is iffy, but she and Sam Wilson are pretty much the liaisons for the Super Geezers aka Steve and the frozen postindustrial rock band reject. Sam is more their friend than she is, what with their shared combat experiences and agreeable senses of humor, but they don't dislike her. Sam has the tools to help them both integrate further into society and not feel like complete shit about their combat experiences. With him, they learn to get with the times while not having to change themselves too much. Darcy has the tools to get them up to speed with the knowledge that they'll need to not make it obvious that they've been frozen and brainwashed for decades. To make a long story short, Bucky had been a bit too taken by her charms for her liking, but he'd never approached her alone and as far as she knows he has yet to raid her good panty drawer. She would probably taze him back into Winter Soldier mode if he tried anything she wasn't 100% okay with. Because as much as she'd like to see him improve, Darcy won't settle for any funny shit that made her feel unhappy or unsafe for his sake. She eventually finds Bucky standing next to Sam, busy staring longingly at the contemporary art piece composed mainly of vodka bottles and sardine cans.
Stark decided that a contemporary art auction paired up with a wine tasting would generate good money for donations, and he hadn't been wrong, there were plenty of people here. But there was something about the atmosphere that was just… not right. Everyone had been spending money for a good cause and the booze was top shelf and flowing, but there were still shadows in their eyes and laughter isn't as full as it could be. Even Darcy feels a bit displaced, a year and two months after Hydra's outing, but she's far better off than some others. No one she loved had died and she wasn't maimed or beaten so she was pretty okay, but there was still that betrayal of trust and loss of faith that everyone felt. For her, it was slightly more personal. So what if a guy that she was sorta kinda trading dirty messages with who seemed to appreciate both her body and her mind was sorta kind of a sleeper agent? It wasn't like she was in love with him or anything. Or that he had made a promise to return home from the war or something like that. So what if she had wondered what it would feel like to be in his arms after a hard day of explaining to Bucky that the masterpiece that was The Breakfast Club was totally not trash. And maybe she had thought about how her kids could have had Brock's hazel eyes, her brains, and really great tastes in coffee. Maybe once or twice she wondered if he was the type to get teary eyed at the altar. But only once or twice, honestly, she's a romantic but not hopeless about it. She definitely didn't fall in love with him and he sure as hell wasn't in love with her.
She's a little bit chilly, sobered up quicker than she expected, and is more than just a little hungry but Darcy Lewis still trusts her eyes. She had been in the mood for a little café con leche, so she had gone out in the convenience store across the street from her apartment. Even with her Culver sweatshirt on, she felt the chill of the store, so she refused to open the glass door containing the milk until she can remember if he said to get 2% or whole milk. In her basket was a jar of caramel, some cinnamon donuts and some whipped cream but she's not even focusing on that, or even the milk at that point. She was focusing on the man that's been following her since she entered the store. Whether or not its Brock that's following her doesn't really matter, she's tasing this jerk and running until she can get help. So she stares at his approaching figure in the reflection on the fridge, flips on the distress signal on her bracelet and readies her taser because Darcy Lewis is not about to go down without a fight.
His hair had grown a little longer and that hideous Mariners cap shades his eyes a little bit but she can see his tired hazel eyes trained on her. His windbreaker was looser than anything she's ever seen him in but she'd recognize those arms anywhere, and she would have appreciated the hell out of how tightly those sweatpants are hugging his thighs if he was any other guy and it was any other place but here at this very moment.
"Darcy," Oh its Brock alright, "I really wanted to talk to you before I go. I'm sure you've already alerted your friends so I want to make this quick. I'm sorry, not for what I did. I'll never be sorry about that." Oh what a shocker, he's an unrepentant psycho. "But I do regret not warning you and I would have if I could. I thought about you every day during that time. Whether or not you were safe or if- or if you had been amongst those targeted by Insight." He reached around Darcy and opened up the fridge. It's not nearly as cold as she thought it would be but she still shivers. Brock snorts, thinking that she's afraid of him and he's not completely wrong, but she's not that scared. She's more irritated by his presence, than anything. Okay that's not completely true, she's also anxious as hell and if she hadn't improved her poker face dealing with the Super Geezers her internal meltdown would be all over her face.
"You should use whole milk," he whispers into her ear, "it always scalds better than 2% to me." He drops the half gallon into her basket and it makes her arms buckle. Brock's hand hovers nears her messy ponytail but instead drops to rest on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly and leaning his head against the side of hers. "They say absence makes the heart grow fonder." She feels herself start to hyperventilate. Darcy's not sure if she's really afraid of what he might do to her, getting caught in the crossfire of the field agents that are about to kick his ass or of what he's about to say to her.
"They also say to not shit where you eat but I guess not all of us really pay attention to wise words."
"Do you remember my favorite song? The one that was too embarrassing for me to say over the phone that one time?" he chuckles and her heart sinks.
"I'm pretty sure it was The Best Thing I Never Had?" Please dear Thor, Loki, Odin, whoever will listen, please don't let him say what she thinks he's going to say.
"You know the one by Selena?" He asks. Oh Frigga, Sif, Hogun, FANDRAL?
"I really do believe I could fall in love with you." Her heart skips several beats; he buries his face into her hair and drags his hand down her arm. She hears the doorbell chime and she knows that his time is up. He pats her arm one last time before bolting to an emergency exit.
Numbly, Darcy drops her basket and leans her head against the cool door.
"He's full of shit anyways, 2% scalds way better."
A/N: Hi, this is my first fic. I'd really appreciate any sort of comments or constructive criticism. Thanks for reading.