*Author's Note*

And I've done it once again, made an AU story for one of my couples. Uh-oh… Anyways this is the Soulmate AU for Brock/Gem that nobody asked for, lol. Darcy Lewis/Billy Russo will be featured as a secondary coupe and as Gem's friends. YAY! Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this AU.

Oh, and feel free to follow my writing/story update (that has pictures for stories, yay!) Instagram at stories_by_phoward

I'm Soulless?...

Brock POV:

Legend has it that the first couple, the first soulmates, had a bond so strong that it nearly caused humanity to fall before it began because the man could be swayed to do anything for his other half, for his woman. Their descendants, as legend had it, wreaked havoc on the world too. So much so that a restart button had to be hit via a big fucking flood and only one man, his wife, his sons, their wives, and a bunch of animals were spared. The fact that the world had to be purged and rebirthed by a cleansing water, cause some soulmate couples got dangerously entuned with each other and committed all kinds of sins for each other in an attempt to over throw the divine beings that made them, angered the Gods; resulting in them making it so that soulmates no longer had matching marks or came from the same tribe. For centuries people wandered around miserable; settling with only a compatible match that could take care of their needs. It was very rare that soulmates were able to find each other, due to the Gods' punishment, but sometimes a lucky soulmate couple were able to beat the odds and find each other.

It was such a couple in Ancient Greece, a man that found his other half only to have her die and have to go down to hell to bargain with Hades to bring her back to the land of the living, did the Fates decide to proposition the Gods with an alternative to making mortals live a severed life from their other half. The Fates had suggested that the powers of mental telepathy and empathy (the feeling of pain, may it be physical or emotion) be bestowed upon soulmates when they came of age so that they'd be able to find each other. The Gods agreed to the Fates' proposition, but only with the condition that not all people be bestowed the gift; that some remain alone in their lives.

Thus, was born Soulmates and The Soulless.

I was told this story by my ma (when she was sober) as a kid. Well, that was before I stepped off the school bus and came barreling into the house to find my ma dead with a needle in her arm at the young age of fucking 6-years-old. But, anyways, the point is that the soulmate bond has been around for thousands of years.

When I turned 18 (of age) I heard nothing. It was as silent as the grave. I tried to reach out and see if my mate was out there, but of course I never heard a voice back. Eh, I was upset about that. Especially since all of my friends and most of the fucking borough of Bensonhurst got linked with their soulmate once they turned 18.

"It ain't fucking fair, Pops. I ain't go nobody and even Tiny Tony got a fucking soulmate." I complained to my Pops one night in the gym as he trained me for an upcoming fight. It was just some local shit at the meat packing plant, but the prize purse was worth it.

God, Tiny Tony wasn't tiny at all. He was a 300 pound 18-year-old whose father owned the corner bodega. I mean if that fat fuck had a soulmate why didn't I?

"Brock, maybe she's a bit younger than you. I mean I didn't hear your ma til I was nearly 21." Pops suggested as he moved his pad covered hands around quickly, making me chase them with fast jab punches.

"Yea…" Look at what good that did him. He was a widowed single father by time he was 27-fucking-years old. Got stuck giving up fighting to run a dank ass outdated gym too.

"Brock, I'm sure she's out there and when you find her, she'll be perfect for you."

"Sure, whatever you say, Pops." I said dismissively as I landed my punches on their target, my Pops' fast-moving pad covered hands.

Six months after my 18th birthday I found myself standing in front of a judge in a Brooklyn courtroom. I was pinched boosting a car for my boss, Bobby. Of course, the car he needed parts from was in Brooklyn Heights (damn as rich part of town across the bridge from Manhattan). Somebody in the posh uptight neighborhood called the fucking cops on me and I got pulled over in the car I was boosting before I even got back to Bensonhurst. It was dumb luck that some old nosy bat walking her dog saw me in a luxury car and had a gut feeling that something wasn't right. Damn nosy bitch profiled me cause I'm Italian, fucking old bat must be prejudice against Italians since she lives in the uptight posh Brooklyn Heights.

Usually, getting pinched happened to dumbasses like my friends Tommy G. or Jojo. Not me, never me, but guess there's a first time for everything. God, Pops had to cut and run during a fight one of the boxers he sponsoring was in to bail my ass out a couple weeks back. Goddamn, was he pissed…

*Flashback To 2 Weeks Ago*

Saying Pops was pissed was an understatement. After bailing me out, which cost him putting up his gym (his livelihood) as collateral cause we were broke, he smacked me upside the head a few times and roared, "Are you fucking stunad?! You wanna spend your life in and out of Rikers?! Huh?!"

"I ain't gonna be spending my life in and out of Rikers, Pops." I cockily assured him as we got into his dark green Gran Torino.

"You sound just like your ma right now." Pops scoffed as he stuck his key in the ignition and cranked his engine to life. Backing out of his parking space and pulling out of the precinct's lot, he ranted, "She said the same shit 'bout her habbit and you know what? The fucking crackhead died with a damn needle in her arm, so don't mind me if I ain't buying your cocky bullshit, son."

"Real nice thing to say about your soulmate." I sneered, choking out the word soulmate with so much sarcasm that it was dripping from my tongue like venom.

"It's the truth. I ain't sugar coating something that you saw for yourself in kindergarten for Christ's sakes, Brock."

"I know what I saw, Pops. You don't gotta remind me that I came home to a fucking dead ma."

Looking between me and the road, he stated, "Maybe remembering what happened to her'll set you straight, keep you from doing something stupid: like getting into a life of crime."

"But crime pays 'round here." I pointed out, earning me a dark glare from my Pops. If I had half a brain it'd leave it there, but I didn't. Instead, I made the blunt remark of, "Hell, Pops, if it weren't for my chop-shop money we'd be living in the dark and the cold; eating fucking noodles every goddamned night cause all your money goes into the gym."

It was true, every goddamn penny he made went right back into his gym. If it wasn't for me learning how to steal and charm at a young age, we wouldn't have shit. I kept food on the table with stealing, fighting, and working at a chop-shop. If it wasn't for what I brought in we wouldn't be able to afford the cheap K-Mart blue light specials and Goodwill shit we've got. Hat to break it to him, but we're fucking hood rats and the only way to get ahead is to get involved in the criminal underworld. Too bad he wouldn't fix any fights for Salieri, then we'd be living high off the hog… For having been a fighter that was married to a crackhead, Pops has a pretty high moral compass. Obviously, my moral compass isn't that high…

Pops gritted his teeth and white-knuckled the steering wheel to keep himself from blowing up at me. He took a deep breathe before asking, "They give you a court date yet? Don't they do that before setting bail?" He kept his eyes trained on the road as he drove us to the gym. I just knew he was taking me there to 'keep an eye' on me by making me spar with some of his loser fighters in order to teach 'em a thing or two. It was always my punishment for mouthing off or being bad. It wasn't that bad, could be worse.

"I see the judge next week. They're giving me a public defender." Was the answer I gave Pops as I stared out the window, looking at the different shops and apartment buildings.

"Yea, you're gonna be in Rikers for a good year."

"Fuck off." I snapped since I wasn't amused one bit by him telling my that I was going to jail. Couldn't he be a bit more understanding, maybe tell me that shit's gonna be okay or something?

Pops smacked me hard on the side of my head and waggled a pointed finger right in my nose and snaped, "Don't tell me to fuck off, you cocky little shit."

*End Of Flashback*

Pops, even tho he was madder than a stiffed loan shark, was in the courtroom to support me today. He was sitting in the front row right behind my seat. A few of my friends along with my boss from the chop-shop was in the gallery on my side for support too.

My public defender looked like he'd just gotten out of law school. God, he seemed young and dumb. I hope the dumb fuck knows what he's doing cause I don't feel like changing my mailing address to Rikers. The guy was sweating bullets and kept yanking at his collar as we waiting on the judge to arrive. Just my luck that the fucker was a bit late from getting back from lunch. Bastard.

Right now, having a soulmate would be real nice. I mean being able to communicate with somebody via mental telepathy would keep me from being bored out of my mind right now. Eh, but of course I don't have a soulmate. Bet everyone else (except for Pops since my crackhead ma's been dead for 12-fucking-years) is using the soulmate bond to keep from being bored.

Suddenly, after what felt like forever, the door to the judge's chamber opened and out walked some old guy that could pass as the crypt keeper. "All rise for the Honorable Judge Mathison." The bailiff announced, causing all of us in the courtroom to rise, as the judge made his way over to the bench.

The judge took his seat and then motioned with his hand for the room to sit as well. I couldn't sit tho and neither could my public defender since I was the one getting sentenced. The judge looked right at me as if he was scrutinizing a piece of art at the MET. He cocked his old head to the side, causing his neck bones to crack loudly, before telling me, "As I understand, Mr. Rumlow, this is your first offense."

"Yes, your honor, this is my client's first offense." My public defender answered while at the same time I just nodded a simple, "Yea."

"Well, since you're still young and have a clean record, other then this one car theft offense, I'm going to offer you an option. Either you do a year in Rikers; risk resuming your criminal ways once you're released or you join the Navy; learn some much needed discipline and get your life together."

My public defender leaned over and advised, "Take the Navy enlistment. It's the lesser of the two evils."

The green lawyer had a point, military service was better then rotting away in jail for a year. So, much to my public defender's advice and to my Pops' relief, I told the judge, "I'll enlist in the Navy."

I hated basic training; it was in the middle of fucking nowhere Illinois. The camp was somewhere north of Chicago, but we sure as shit weren't aloud to go to Chicago. We were stuck 'learning' how to be good soldiers. I hated being so far from home cause, unlike the other guys in my barracks, I was truly alone. I still didn't have my bond open with my soulmate so I had nobody to talk to or share my thoughts and frustrations with. I had to write Pops letters and he got around to them when he could. He was busy training a team of fighters so… Goddamnit, I was so jealous of the guys in my barracks that were all smiles as they telepathically communicated with their soulmates every damn night. Lucky bastards, what I wouldn't give for that.

After basic training, I had to find an area to specialize in. I had no fucking clue what to do, but an officer suggested that I looked like I'd be a good gunner's mate. So, that's how I ended up handling every fire arm imaginable on the deck of the ship. I actually enjoyed my work too.

I was happy as a gunner's mate, or at least I was until my 21st birthday. It was a muggy and hot night on June 8th and since it was the weekend, I had some leave to go explore some bars and what not while the ship was docked in San Diego. Some of my fellow sailors (some guys that bunked with me) were enjoying some weekend leave too. We were drinking and celebrating my birthday, whenever one of them (a skinny blonde named Matt) made the remark of, "Bet you'd rather be spending your birthday weekend holed up with your soulmate then here in a sailor bar with our ugly mugs."

I took a long slug of my beer before setting my bottle on the table and telling my friend (well, he was more-so my co-worker, but friend sounded better), "I don't got a soulmate."

"No way, Brock. You're soulless?" The nearly 7-foot dark skinned sailor named Ty asked, his jaw opened so wide that it was hitting the floor.

"Yea." I nodded, feeling my chest tighten cause I knew what was coming next. It always happened what I revealed I was soulless. The suggestion that my soulmate was younger then me.

"Maybe she's younger than you." Hector suggested before taking a long sip of his beer. Yep, I saw that coming.

"My Pops said that too, but I reached out earlier today, since he told me he was 21 when he met my mom, and got nothing, but fucking crickets in response."

"Hmm…that's odd." Hector hummed, scratching his chin as he tried to figure out my situation. Shit, nothing for that scholar to figure out. He was a smart history buff that kinda missed out on his calling of studying as a professor or some shit. Hell, if it wasn't for him knocking up his soulmate and getting run out of town by her fiancé (yea how does that even work, I dunno?) he wouldn't even be in the Navy right now.

"Maybe you really are soulless." Ty suggested, causing me to roll my hazel eyes at the man.

Picking up my beer bottle and taking a swig, I scoffed, "Told you so, you dumb fucks."

Matt drained the rest of his beer and motioned for the bartender to bring him another while telling me, "You know, a lot of the SEALS are soulless or are still awaiting their bond. Maybe you'd fit in better with them."

Hector shot daggers at Matt with his blue eyes while reprimanding him in a horrified tone, "Matt, you can't just say that to him! It's rude."

"It wasn't rude, Hector. It's the truth." I told my fellow sailor so he's stop shooting blue-eyed daggers at Matt. Shaking my head, I took a swig of beer and admitted in a sigh, "I'd be more comfortable around people that aren't fucking going on and on about their damn soulmates all the time."

"You're going to ask our C.O. to transfer you into the program for the SEALS, aren't you?" Hector asked, giving me a look that was both knowing and sympathetic, while Matt and Ty just looked at me as if they already knew what my answer would be.

"Yea…Yea, I am." I nodded before draining my beer bottle and setting it down on the table with a loud clank.

Happy fucking 21st Birthday to me. I'm gonna be a SEAL since I'm still soulless, what a great present from the universe.

After 2-fucking-years of classes, certifications, and hard ass kicking and brutal training I became a SEAL. I even impressed my instructor so much that I was assigned to SEAL Team 6. I loved being on SEAL Team 6. The guys were great badasses that I enjoyed working with. They took no shit and I felt an odd brotherhood around these hardened men, who were either soulless or unbonded (being that their soulmate died before reaching age or whatever). Nobody ever talked about soulmates during workouts and drills, so that was great. Having to hear about people's soulmates all the time back on the ship when I was a gunner's mate used to piss me off, badly.

Being soulless was a touchy subject for me. I didn't want to be soulless, but that's what the fucking Gods and Fates bestowed upon my ass. Lucky me…

The years went by and before I knew it, I was turning 30 and buying a nice house off base (Little Creek) in Norfolk, Virginia. Yea, I was tired of on base housing in Little Creek, so I applied (and got approved) for a VA loan and put a bid in for a house. It was a nice two-story blue house that was only a 10-minute drive away from base. A lot of the other SEALS chose to live at Little Creek, being that they didn't have a mate, but I just got tired of it. The rental houses and apartments were owned by the Navy and felt impersonal after a while. I wanted a place of my own. Pops was gonna love it when he came to visit, or at least I hope he'd love it. He always complained about my on-base housing so…

I had a bounce in my step as I exited my Jeep and made my way over to the realtor's office. There was a black guy (reminded me of Shaft) in a black leather trench coat with a black eyepatch sitting on the bench right outside of the realtor's office. His lone eye swept over me in a scrutinizing way, before he remarked, "So, you're motherfucking Rumlow."

Arching my brow, I countered half-blind Shaft with, "Who the fuck's asking?"

"Director Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D., that's who's fucking asking, motherfucker." He told me in a 'I'm a badder boss then you' tone.

S.H.I.E.L.D., what the fuck does that government agency want me for? Fuck…Everyone knew that S.H.I.E.L.D. was some badass shit. I mean the acronym stood for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division so that shit's a step up in badass from the SEALS, which isn't for the faint of heart if I must say so (since I've been in SEAL Team 6 since I was 23…).

Standing up and closing the space between us, Director Fury told me, "As I understand you're an excellent SEAL, Petty Officer Rumlow. But as an enlisted man I'm afraid you'll be hitting your head against the class ceiling in a few more years, but I have a career opportunity for you that'll make you Commander Rumlow in less than 2-years."

"What?" I asked, looking at the man like he had lobsters crawling out of his damn ears. There's no way in hell that I could become a commander. I just don't got the education for it.

"You heard me, Petty Officer Rumlow." Fury told me in a no-nonsense type tone. Tilting his head slightly at me, he asked, "Now, do you want to hear my offer or am I wasting my motherfucking goddamn time here?"

"I'll hear you out, Director Fury."

"Good, now let's sit down so I can give you a file and explain what's going on."

I nodded and followed the man over to the bench that he was sitting on when I first arrived to the realtor's office. As soon as I took a seat next to him on the bench, he took a file out of his black leather trench coat and handed it to me. I opened the file, only to see a classified document labeled Project Centipede. As I read it, I discovered it was a super soldier project and that every man that applied to become a part of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s STRIKE Alpha team was required to join it by the World Security Secretary: Alexander Pierce. Looking up from the file and over to Fury, I asked, "So, you want to me to apply for STRIKE Alpha and undergo this super soldier shit?"

"Yes, but the reason why is because this isn't a S.H.I.E.L.D. sanctioned project, but a HYDRA one. HYDRA is the only one with remnants of super soldier serum, which they used on some of the Howling Commandos before they were rescued by Captain America during War World II. Seeing this file sent off alarm bells and flashing red lights in my head, making me think that maybe S.H.I.E.L.D.'s got a little Nazi-fuck problem."

No shit, Sherlock. You definitely got a 'little Nazi-fuck problem' since only HYDRA has the serum. Hell, what makes me so special to gamble my life on this. Hell, looks like all the men that applied for this shit could outrank me any day. After thumbing thru the files of the failed super soldier subjects, I looked at Fury and asked, "Why me? I'm sure you've got other agents, ones more qualified then me, to do this shit."

Fury snatched the top secret file out of my hands and stuffed it back into his trench coat while telling me, "Not one single motherfucker I sent in to infiltrate HYDRA survived Project Centipede, that's why I'm here offering you this fucking career opportunity to become STRIKE Alpha Commander within 2-fucking-years. You're the 'type' of jacked-up soldier Pierce would take a motherfucking shinning to and promote to run the team."

"If everyone you sent in didn't survive the super soldier serum then why'd you expect me to survive?"

"I've been thumbing thru files of every Special Ops Forces soldier in the government databases and, to tell you the truth, you're the only motherfucker that stands out to me. You've done so many deadly missions where it's reported you're shooting men between the eyeballs before even landing your feet on the ground with your chute. Now that's the kind of hardness needed to survive the serum HYDRA injects into their STRIKE Alpha team."

"So, you're certain that within 2-years I'll be promoted to STRIKE Alpha Commander?" I asked, wanting to make sure that I was going to get a good commission. Being soulless I was essentially married to my work, the better title and more shit for me to do that better. Plus, the rank of Commander would have all those women looking for one last fling before settling down with their soulmate flocking to me at bars during bachelorette parties and shit.

"Yea." Fury nodded before ominously adding in, "That is if you survive Project Centipede that is."

"Oh, I'll fucking survive. That I'm sure of."

"Good. Then I'll go talk to your motherfucking C.O. and get the process started for your transfer to S.H.I.E.L.D." He told me before standing up. He made two steps before looking over his shoulder and telling me, "Oh, you might want to pull your bid back on that quint little colonial cottage you're buying cause I can't have you commuting in fucking hour and a half traffic everyday to DC. You're on call 24/7, 365-motherfucking-days a year so I advise you to use that VA loan on a townhouse or some shit in DC."

Well, looks like I better call a realtor in DC and start looking at townhouses…

Getting injected with the HYDRA juice was the most excruciatingly painful thing that I've ever experienced in my entire life (and I experienced a lot of shit as a SEAL). I was in some fucking top-secret basement somewhere in a warehouse between Virginia and Maryland, strapped down on a fucking gurney while convulsing and sweating more than a whore in church. My head hurt so bad that it made a migraine seem like a fucking treat. My eyeballs felt like they were gonna pop out of my head and bleed out Ebola style while I was dry heaving uncontrollably. God, I was to the point that pretty soon I'd be hacking up blood or my fucking kidney. All of the men strapped down to gurneys next to me were dying left and right, just dropping off like flies. At least I wasn't dying, just in an ungodly amount of pain.

While I convulsed, dry heaved, and shook in unbearable pain, I heard the sounds of feet echoing against the concrete floor of the basement lab. The thump-thump sounds were so loud that I thought my head was going to cave in from the pain the noise set off. As the footsteps go closer my headache got worse. So bad that I wanted to rip my hair out and scream. Unfortunately, I couldn't scream cause my throat was so dry. I swear, it was like the fucking Sahara Desert.

"So, he's not dead yet." A cold voice stated as the loud footsteps stopped right next to me.

"No, Pierce, he's not dead. In fact, he's the only one that seems to be taking to the serum out of the 35-men we injected." The scientist that injected me with the HYDRA juice told his leader.

"Really?..." Pierce asked, sounding both pleased and curious. "What's this soldier's name, doctor?"

"According to his file, his name's Brock Diego Santino Rumlow. He was a Petty Officer on SEAL Team 6 before apply to become about of STRIKE Alpha."

"A Navy SEAL. Well, no wonder he's surviving the serum. He's soulless; perfect for a covert member of HYDRA." Pierce said before walking off, the scientist trailing right behind him.

Well, looks like Fury was right about how Pierce would be impressed with me. Looks like I'll be getting that Commander title within 2-years after all. And all I gotta do for it is play SHIELDRA triple agent. Hell, wait til Pops hears bout this. He'll be so 'proud' that I'm doing good government work instead of becoming what he always feared I'd be: a fucking criminal.

AN:

And that's the first chapter of this Soulmate AU. Hope you guys liked it. Next up will be the intro chapter to Gem. Then after that chapter, the Soulmate bond reveal will be done. Yay! Okay, I have a lot of this loosely planned out, so I just have to listen to the muses and get to writing.

Also, I'm gonna be doing some work on Triple Threat (and hopefully Transcending Time) too. Hopefully I can get something posted soon.