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Faith In A Natural Disaster

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There’s not much that happens anymore that comes as a surprise to you.

The Triskelion is where you call your home; you’re a secretary for it but SHIELD has treated you right. You aren’t exactly surprised by heroes coming in through the doors, or by Nick Fury himself trying to cover the tracks of someone else. When you took the job you knew what was going to happen, and even though most of it just involved being that type of secretary that transferred calls and did paperwork, it still was a good job. There was this certain thrill that slipped into your bones whenever you realized that you were working for a government organization; you were in the same building that Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff frequented. That alone was some weird thrill, and so after the first year of working there with the team, nothing really surprised you anymore. It was the every day normal to see someone of their status head in and out of the doors.

This is different though; this isn’t at work and this is invading something that’s sacred and private. This is invading the home, and you can’t help but stare at the screen, transfixed as the message undoubtedly sent by Natasha herself as a heads up and a warning remains up on your computer screen. Your hand is over your mouth, and you always thought that that was just some weird dramatic gesture that people did in the movies, but it’s like a magnet. A glint catches off the sunlight and draws your attention down to it, the diamond mocking you on the simple silver band that rests on your ring finger.

Dread and hatred fills you; there’s no way this can be your life, no way this can be real. There has to be some sort of mistake; there’s no way that he would be part of such a horrible organization – he’s a top agent for SHIELD. But if it’s true and SHIELD has just fallen at Hydra’s feet…

You stop yourself right there, unable to process it. It makes something in your chest clench and you’re not entirely sure how to breathe for a minute. In your mind you know that you’re doing it, but it’s coming in harsh gasps through your mouth, your vision blurring with the tears that threaten to escape. It’s not so much the fact that it’s even happening that shocks you; it’s the fact that out of all the people in this world, it’s him. The one person you’ve trusted the most, the one person you’ve shared your most intimate moments and thoughts with, the one person who’s driven a wedge in between you and the demons in your head.

They’re mocking you now, laughing in your ears as you clamp your hand harder on your mouth. His picture stares back at you from database file that’s taking up your entire screen. Across the bottom of the photo there’s a giant ’WANTED HYDRA AGENT’ written, and you feel like you’re going to become sick at the thought of that simple three word phrase. Even when your eyes drift back to the photo, there’s a different glint in his eyes that reflect in the picture, and you don’t know how to breathe anymore. How could you miss all the signs? All the ones that had been so clearly in front of you? Your eyes move to his martial status and you feel everything in you lurch as your name is stated clearly, a red font next to it saying ‘wanted for questioning’ next to it.

Running your shaking hands through your hair, you try to breathe deep and process everything that’s happening. It feels like there’s no way to do it though and your breathing just quickens for a moment. Not only is he a wanted man, suddenly you’re a wanted person too. This is Natasha warning you of not only who you were married to, but that you’re in danger as well. Your mind tries to work harder, tries to process the information quicker, but you can’t.

The bed you’re sitting on is still messed up from the morning, from hot and heavy kisses that had your nails digging in and forgetting the world existed. It had been well before the sun rose, but it wasn’t abnormal for SHIELD to call him in if they needed an agent. Missions always came first and you both knew that. It was something so simple to process. They still smelled strongly of his cologne and sweat – you hadn’t gotten a chance to clean up yet. Your eyes linger on the imprint and messed up, ruffled sheets. You long for that moment again, to just keep it and rewind it and freeze it, not let this touch it.

Your attention is drawn by a key turning in the lock of the door. Your breath hitches and you look over your shoulder before diving for the dresser, yanking the gun free and clicking the safety off like your life depends on it. It very well may; you don’t know who’s coming through that door or if it’s someone that you really want to see. Steve and Natasha would’ve been much more discreet in the way the lock moved; there was a key, that soft push of the key up hard twice that was the trick to getting in. The lock had always stuck since you and him had bought the apartment; that little hitch in the lock was something that only two people knew.

The door swung open and your breath caught in your chest.

Brock carefully stepped around the door like he always did, closing it with a soft click before the lock was being clicked over once more. Both of you weren’t too keen on locks being left without use; you both worked or an organization that taught you that evil was actually out there, and anyone who worked for SHIELD was always at danger. It was a precaution really, and you had this ability to be paranoid as it was. Brock had always respected it; he preferred it to sleeping with the gun underneath his pillow, anyway.

Turning around, his eyebrow cocked slightly at your stance. Your jaw was set and your gun was firmly directed at his chest. “Didn’t know we were playing sexy agent the moment I got home from work.”

“I know who you are,” you state, keeping your stance and trying not to keen at the prospect of something that was so purely you two. A certain edge slips over Brock’s features and he stands up straighter. Agent mode is kicking in, and that’s something that you can recognize without thinking about it.

“I think you’re being crazy and letting paranoia get to you,” Brock says slowly, his eyes lingering on the gun and he’s calculating any escape route, calculating his chances against you. Which you both know are extremely high; you’re not naive to think that you can take on a military combat specialist. He’s in SHIELD for a reason. “Just put the gun down.”

Your grip on it tightens, switching it to just one hand. You keep your eyes on him as you turn the computer towards him, revealing what had been sent. His eyes linger on it, his jaw tightening and a certain look passing across his features. There’s not so much fear in it as a certain sadness, a certain motion that this was something he had wanted to avoid. “Put down the gun.”

“Put down the front,” you spit back without much thought, your fingers tightening against the handle of the gun once more. Your eyes are narrowed and Brock looks so done because he wanted to avoid this entire thing and yet here you are, gun in hand, pretending you can really shoot.

“We both know I can have that out of your hands within thirty seconds.” It’s a wide birth; he’s giving you a chance to get away, to make a choice for yourself. There’s a certain look in his eye, a beat in the room that tells you to put it down, to walk away, to pretend you left and he came home to nothing. “Put. The gun. Down.”

Swallowing hard, your fingers tremble against the handle. You know you can’t do it; there’s some commitment in you that absolutely adores the man and even something like Hydra can’t stop it. But then it occurs to you that SHIELD was just a cover; he never was really a part of it – he was just waiting for the moment to infiltrate with Hydra. Biting down on your lip, your eyes dart to your ring then to the matching silver band that accents his own finger. You realize what’s bugging you the most about the situation, and you don’t know what it says about your loyalty to your organization or about you as a person. “How much of it was even remotely real?”

Brock’s brows furrow for a second before the realization comes over his face; it’s full of guilt and something else that you don’t know. It’s enough of an answer; it’s all you need to know and you pull in a shaky breath. “It’s not like that. It was an under cover mission. You were the easiest target.”

“Now I’m an easy target? Keep talking yourself six feet under,” you hiss out, cocking the gun. Brock raises an eyebrow at you, then rolls his eyes. He moves before you can process it, his hand coming out to knock the gun away from you before he’s got you pressed tightly to his chest, one arm around your waist firmly and one across your chest. Swallowing hard you struggle for a moment before he puts more pressure against your body and you gasp, going limp and feeling your heart pounding hard in your head.

“You started as one. Going out with you, proposing, getting married? All part of the plan.” His voice is hot and inviting in your ear and you wince, feeling that familiar emotion of betrayal reaching up into your chest. It grips at your heart hard and threatens to squeeze it tightly until it bursts. “Falling in love with you? Getting you stuck in this mess? That wasn’t part of the plan. You were never supposed to find out about Hydra – I was going to make it right. Was going to get you out of here before SHIELD even thought of you.”

Brock’s voice loses that familiar gravely tone and falls into something that almost breaks. It’s a raw honesty that you can pick out, even if you aren’t trained to. It makes something in you twist and you know you’re starting to lose the fight that you have. Your ring feels entirely too heavy around your finger, and you don’t believe it. You can’t. “You’re lying.”

“I would never lie about loving you,” he murmurs quietly, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. It’s a sign of surrender, of the agent in him retreating and the human in him pushing forward. There’s no Hydra or SHIELD agent that exists here right now; it’s Brock Rumlow, a person who knows that this is all twisted and wrong, and he doesn’t have a good explanation, and he doesn’t expect you to believe him. He knows you’re not a fool. “All those times in that bed over there, with me inside of you mentally and physically, isn’t a lie. Has never been a lie. You compromised me; you weren’t an easy target. You’re a complex son of a bitch and we both know that. I didn’t plan on this. I didn’t plan on feeling like the rings meant something. I didn’t plan on getting attached.”

Swallowing thickly, you bite down on your lip and let out a slow breath. You feel sick all over as you try to separate truth and lies. There’s the way that his hand is brushing against yours, the way your bands are clinking together, and in the silence of the apartment, it seems like the loudest thing on the planet. Your head can barely process it all anymore; there’s a difference in Brock now, a certain desperation. This isn’t just to keep you quiet for Hydra – he could’ve shot you if that was the case.

Brock wasn’t here to bargain you to be silent – he was here for forgiveness, for the truth that had come out that he had wanted to shelter you from.

His lips press firmly against the pulse in your neck before his forehead presses there instead. “This isn’t a lie. Right now isn’t a lie. Coming home wasn’t a lie.”

Tentacle like arms slowly fall from your body and give you a soft push forward. You turn to look at him, and the agent looks utterly defeated. He nods towards the gun that had been knocked a foot or so away. He raises his arms then, looking at you with a certain emotion that you can’t place. “You don’t believe me? Pull the trigger.”

Your eyes study him carefully, look for some sign that this is a trap, a way to get him out of Hydra and be a part of the plan. But there isn’t a hidden motive; his eyes are clear and his jaw isn’t ticked up. He’s not being tactical or looking for the next move. He doesn’t know what move is going to happen – he’s willing to take his punishment like a man because heagreed to all of this.

Part of you wants to pull it. This isn’t about SHIELD or Hydra – this is a personal matter. This is about the love and trust that you presumed you two shared, about the way you’ve lived in the dark and believed this was all just some pining and your own romantic tale. This isn’t what you had expected to happen; it’s only been a few months and you’re both supposed to still be in that honeymoon phase. But this feels different and the gun is like a beckoning call, telling you to do the right thing.

But the problem with both of you, is that neither of you have ever been particularly great with making that call to do the right thing when it comes to your relationship.

You shake your head and Brock drops his arms slowly before he’s moving forward, his hand going to the back of your neck and pulling you in, your body going willingly. You’re familiar with the sensation, of the spark it sends down your spine as his lips connect harshly with your own. It’s one that’s filled with more teeth and pleading than you’re used to, but you return it without much thought, your fingers gripping tightly at the black shirt that he’s sporting.

A small noise slips up your throat as his hands slip down to grip your waist. You’re still clad in your night shorts and t-shirt, his fingers hitching the material up slightly before an appreciative moan runs from his lips. Your shirt is half up and you’re reluctant to pull back from the thorough kiss, one that’s invading your every thought and hitting nerves you never knew that you had, but you need it off and you’re not letting him tear another piece of clothing. You push back from his chest and his hands are immediately tugging it up over your head. A smirks slips onto his features as his eyes move along you newly exposed skin before he’s gripping your hips and yanking you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as your back collides with the wall hard.

The paintings rattle slightly, but you’re not sure if you care if they fall or not. Your fingers thread through Brock’s hair, his mouth moving along your collarbone in tight sucks and laps of his tongue. It’s enough to raise soft red marks, but not enough to make anything last, and that sends a small amount of fear through you. If this is the last time you get this, you want something that won’t fade so quickly. A small keening, panicking noise rises up in your chest and your hands are pulling at his hair, and Brock lets out a soft moan because it’s a weakness.

His eyes come back up to yours, searching and just as frantic before he kisses you again, slowly coaxing your mouth open this time and letting his fingers rub at the sensitive flesh of your hips. You let out a noise against his lips and he pulls back, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment as you both breathe heavily, take a second, trying to calm everything down. Your heartbeat is in your head again, so loud it almost drowns out the panic, but whiskey eyes are staring you down, unsure and searching, but knowing when he finds it.

“Shh, shh I’ve got you…” It’s a quiet promise and it’s like something in you calms, his head tilting again to give you a slow, thorough kiss that leaves you breathless. His fingers slowly slide up your side as he presses his body flush up against yours. A shiver runs down your spine at the feeling of the material pressed against your naked torso. Your breath hitches and you let out a loud moan of his name as his thumb presses into the side of your breast, right at the spot that has you arching and trying not to cry out louder. He rubs a firm circle there, pressing his thumb a little tighter and you’re a mewling mess, your head pressed back against the wall and arching. His tongue comes up to run up the base of your throat to your lips, his connecting against yours again before his fingers squeeze lightly.

A shudder runs down your spine and your hips roll forward into his, sparks shooting along your skin as you feel the bulge of him pressing against the thin material. His jeans are entirely impractical in that moment, and he lets out his own breathless moan at the contact. You want to sink to your knees, want to take every part of him in, and Brock seems to get the hint by the incoherent noises that come from your mouth. He lets up on your breast and lets you push your legs down. You carefully drop to your knees and tug his jeans down, your breath hitching at the outline of his cock through his tight boxer shorts.

They come down shortly after the jeans hit the floor; you don’t want to play this weird game anymore. You just want him, all of him, want to prove that this is real. You swallow thickly as his cock leaves a smear of precum against his black shirt as he stands there, letting out a hiss at the contact. You reach forward, gripping at his thighs for leverage as you run your tongue along the edge of his tip. A moan escapes him as his fist clenches against the wall, and you’re left breathless by the weight of it against your tongue. There’s something about watching Brock in a primal state like this that has everything in your chest catching and you can barely stand it.

You pull in a careful breath, hold it for a second, letting your mind catch up with all of this. Then you move forward, letting his tip slide along the flat of your tongue before you close your mouth around it. You suck carefully, letting your tongue run along his slit and gather the precum that’s pooling there one more. Brock lets out a louder hiss above you, his body moving forward to bend against the wall, forehead pressed into his forearms as he tries to control himself. It’s not the most comfortable position for either of you, huddled up against the wall in the dark of the room, but it’s something that feels too perfect to pull away from.

You let your tongue run along the ridge of his tip, moaning softly around him as your fingers slide further up his thigh. Your palm runs along his balls before you’re taking in a deep inhale through your nose and pushing yourself further down on his cock. A loud, broken gasp of your name falls from his lips as his hips roll further, and you openly take it. You feel the weight of his cock against your tongue; heavy and throbbing, that prominent vein like a pulse against your senses. You suck and let it be as loud and messy as it needs to be because you need this to be something you’ll both remember. His hips move in uneven little thrusts, shallow enough to leave you some room and you whimper softly around him, sucking harder at the tip before you take him fully and swallow firmly around the length of his cock.

Fuck,” it’s a deep hiss coming from his mouth before he’s pulling back, his hand reaching down to squeeze firmly at the base of his cock, to make this last longer because he’s notsome sort of teenager and isn’t going to blow up so fast. His hands reach down and tug you up swiftly, giving you a sense of vertigo that leaves you giggling before his lips muffle everything. Strong hands are lightly stroking your sides as his tongue strokes yours, the taste of him on you driving every primal sense crazy. “Bed.”

A shiver runs down your spine and you shakily head over to the bed, Brock not too far behind you. He shucks his t-shrit somewhere along where his pants and boxers are, but he doesn’t seem all that concerned about it. The hair gel in his hair is broken up, the strands laying unevenly as he crowds you until you go willingly, looking up at him through your lashes as he groans softly. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know.”

“Do you really want to be using that choice of wording?” It’s a soft chide and Brock lets out a groan, nuzzling his nose to the inside of your knee as he goes down on his own. Your fingers run through his hair again, a shiver following as his lips come in contact with your skin. “Brock…”

“Shut up,” he murmurs, but there’s no bite to it. He carefully pulls away from your skin and nudges your shoulders, your body pressing back into the mattress as you pull in a careful breath. It’s like there’s a heaviness in the air now, but one that’s full of both of you and that you’re not sure that you could ever escape. His fingers grip your shorts, tugging them down along with your panties. He’s a little nicer with the clothing, letting it pile against his knees before his hands are running up your thighs once more.

He reaches forward, placing a soft kiss against your hip before his fingers are slipping to your clit, a soft noise echoing from both of you at the contact. He presses his opposite thumb against you, spreading you out a little bit more as his fingers run down your pussy and to your entrance, feeling just how much the situation is getting to you. Brock moans loudly and presses his face against your hip for a moment as a shudder runs through his body.

“You’re so wet for me, aren’t you kitten?” It’s a soft murmur against your skin and you know he doesn’t expect an answer because his fingers are already circling your entrance before he pushes one in, feeling you contract around him as he lets out a softer moan. A shudder runs down your body at the intrusion, a soft whine coming up the back of your throat as you try to breathe through it all. You roll your hips, desperate for him to move, feeling full but not full enough. Brock smiles against your skin and carefully runs his finger along your walls, shivering as a mewl escapes your lips. “You always take me so good…”

He allows his finger to thrust carefully a few more times before he’s slipping a second finger into you, and your teeth bite into your bottom lip. Your fingers are gripping hard at his hair as he starts a punishing rhythm, keeping his fingers curled tightly against you. You cry out and rock down, forcing them deeper and shivering at the wet sound that slip from between your thighs on every pull out, his fingers stretching you even more. A soft whine leaves your lips as he pushes them upward, your hips twitching restlessly and a familiar burning starting in your stomach. It’s not enough to break you; Brock knows what’ll get you off, and even the feather light brushes of his thumb against your clit have you telling your brain no because this isn’t going to be how either of you finish.

Brock seems to read your mind, pulling his fingers out with a soft pop that has you shudder. Your own hands want to run down, to fill the void that Brock’s leaving, but you keep them firmly at your sides. Brock’s teeth lightly dig into your side as a reminder and you moan, your legs falling open a little wider on pure instinct.  A shiver runs through you as he pulls away, the cold air of the room hitting you and making it hard to make eye contact with the agent as he carefully pulls you up the bed.

Your back lands with a soft thud once you’re up against the pillows and a dazed laugh leaves your lips. Brock smiles before he’s covering your mouth with his again, this kiss much more slow and intimate then the rest. Your fingers move to hook behind his neck, keeping him against you as he lets out a softer noise, his hand gripping the base of his cock once more. Smiling, you nudge at his nose a bit before glancing down as he  props himself up with his arm a bit more. A moan leaves both of your lips as he runs the length of his cock against your pussy, the wetness openly collecting on it and making you shiver. You reach a hand down, running your finger along the prominent, throbbing vein as a shudder goes down his spine before he allows the tip to slip into you. A soft gasp leaves your lips and you want to roll your hips down, want to take all of him in.

It’s a wild fire that starts in you, and while you know Brock is normally the one for teasing, he pushes it away in favor for sinking into you all the way, bottoming out with a loud moan as his hips press flush against yours. You whimper softly, feeling the familiar stretch and warmth of him inside of you. It’s like you can’t get enough of him, and your fingers move down to rub softly at your clit. He lightly slaps your hand away and you mouth, a smirk resting on his face before his lips are coming down on yours again and swallowing your moans as he begins to move.

The thrusts are sharp and uneven, your fingers gripping desperately at his hair as the simple movements have your body lighting up. Then he’s moving so that he’s covering you fully, his arms pressed against the sheets by your head. One roll of his hips have him hitting your spot and you cry out loudly, your neck arching as your fingers dig into his shoulders. He leaves wet, open mouthed kisses against your collarbone as he starts to fuck you in earnest now, his hips moving fast and hard. The sound of both of you is echoing through the room and it drowns out the doubts you have as he grinds, catching your clit and making your eyes slam shut tighter.

Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling his body closer as he rolls his hips hard, hitting every nerve ending in you as soft whimpers come from your lips. You’re trying to keep it down, trying to hold back; you don’t know who could be listening and it’s so damn hard to do that. Brock tugs at your bottom lip for a minute before raising his body, glancing down where you two are joined, a moan escaping his own lips. “Look at how nicely that tight little pussy is taking me…”

Swallowing hard, you shakily raise up a little and let out a loud gasp as Brock’s hand comes down sharply on your clit. A tremor runs through your body and it’s building an orgasm deep in your stomach and your spine, Brock’s nose lightly nudging your jaw up. His forehead comes down on yours as he repeats the action while thrusting faster, and you know you’re not going to last long. You’re a moaning mess and his hand is clenched firmly at the base of your neck, forcing you to watch what’s happening just the way he is.

“Do you wanna cum kitten? Wanna milk my cock for all it’s worth?” His voice is tight and heavy, and you know Brock’s just as close as you are. You clench hard around him and swallow thickly, trying to find your words as his thrusts start to slow. You let out a whine of protest and he looks at you, eyebrow raised as his hand presses down on your lower stomach, sending another sensation through you that has you crying out his name.

“Please, please fuck let me cum, please…” Your lip actually trembles and Brock’s eyes go from dominant to concerned in the blink of an eye. You shake your head and press it tightly into his shoulder, breathing heavily as his thrusts still for a minute.

“Hey, hey you good?” Brock’s voice is still tight, but there’s worry along the edges. You nod quickly and suck in a sharp breath, wiggling your hips and trying to get some sort of movement again, to hold onto the orgasm that was brimming only moments ago. Brock’s fingers lightly cup at the back of your head and keep you where you are, knowing that it’s a favored position when everything starts to be too much. He lightly massages with his thumb as his thrusts slowly start to pick up again, and your fingers are digging into his chest as the brink of your orgasm starts to catch up with you again.

His hand presses harder against your stomach and you cry out, his cock moving faster and in tighter motions as your walls grip him. You’re moaning his name mindlessly, gasping and whimpering, begging for him to let you cum, mumbling that you need his cock so bad it hurts. He makes soft, soothing noises but doesn’t let up on his thrusts, his hand moving down to rub quickly at your clit. A loud moan escapes your lips at the difference of it all, the roughness of his fingers with the fleeting, soft wet noises of his cock, and it’s all that you can take.

You cry out his name loudly and hoarsely as your orgasm washes over you. Your hips buck against his restlessly, your cum slipping down his shaft as he slows his movements slightly, the tightness entirely too much for him to move. He lets out his own moan at the sensation though and you’re trembling, shaking, his fingers letting up slowly on your clit once he’s drawn out every little buck and contraction that you’re willing to give him. You’re breathing heavily against his shoulder and let out a soft noise of protest when you feel his cock slip free from your pussy, hot and heavy against your clit as he grinds for a moment.

His lips peck your forehead before he grips his cock, stroking heavy and fast as you suck at his jaw. Brock’s entirely body is trembling, his movements frantic and jagged and you know that he’s close, closer than he wanted to admit. Then his lips are coming down on yours to stiffle the loud moan as he cums hard, thick stripes painting your stomach as you shiver. His hips roll tight and carefully through it until he’s sure that he’s done, that he’s spent, and your lips connect hard with his once more.

The weight he has leaning on his arms gives out and he goes back flush against the bed with you willingly. His head is nothing but this echoed silence, a small ringing in his ears as he pulls in sharp, deep breathes. Your head lightly lulls against his shoulder, your eyes shut tightly as you pull in a slow breath yourself. Everything is still trembling and feeling the man tremble beside you, an agent that’s nothing but a monster on the field, has some sort of power trip on you every time.

It’s silent and heavy for a few moments as you both regain your breath and your wits. Then his hand comes down against your stomach, shocking you and making you laugh as his face scrunches up in remembrance. “Son of a bitch.”

He rolls over on his side and lunges for the tissue box, cleaning off his hand before he wipes at your stomach, his touches a lot more controlled than the ones he used on himself. Then he throws the tissue somewhere near the garbage, knowing that it won’t even remotely land there, and allows his body to come back against the bed once more. Your body openly turns into his, feeling the warmth radiating there as a heavy arm comes around your shoulders, holding you firmly as whiskey is directed at the ceiling, searching for answers.

You don’t want to have to fight for this; you know that this is the time when Brock normally rubs circles into your shoulder while your eyes get heavy, worn out and spent from the sheer activity. Brock had a way of working you up and bringing you down like a feather, but that wasn’t going to happen this time. Even though his thumb was already beginning to rub at your shoulder, you knew you didn’t want to sleep, didn’t want that possibility of waking up to an empty bed and not knowing anything from that point on.

“What happens now?” Your voice breaks the soft silence and Brock glances down at you. There’s something hidden in his eyes, something that makes you grip tighter at the sheets as you let out a slow exhale. You catch the glint of his ring once more and take in a slow, steady breath to calm your quaking emotions.

“We’re going to pack you a bag and I’m going to drop you off at the airport. You’re going to go to your mother’s until all of this is passing over.” There’s a tightness in his voice, like this isn’t what he really wants to do, and you bite down on your lip slightly. His fingers move through your hair once more. “I had the files destroyed that have you on them. They won’t know your location and can’t come looking for you.”

“And you? Us?” The word feels foreign on your tongue, like you’re not entirely sure how to explain everything that’s happening. You’re not sure if this is something that’s actually going to happen or if this is all just another ploy.

Brock shifts beside you and gives a long, thorough kiss that almost has you forgetting about how wrong the world is around you. “We’re going to be fine. We’re going to make it through this.” He reaches forward, pressing another kiss to your forehead, this one much more sincere and filled with emotion than either of you want to admit. “I have to finish what I started, then how does Japan sound? You’ve always been obsessed with some of the culture.”

“It’s not an obsession, it’s an appreciation.” A small pout forms on your face and Brock smiles, carefully getting up and looking for his abandoned clothes. He finds them fairly easy before handing you a fresh pile of your own clothes. You pull on the shirt of his that’s entirely too big along with the rest, and let out a slow breath. It smells like his cologne and gunpowder, and it’s a scent you don’t want to forget.

His fingers are already throwing in more clothing and essentials into a carry on, and you feel something tighten in your chest. There’s a slight jerkiness to his movements, a slight hesitation, and you catch him stash a bottle of his own cologne near the bottom, cushioned by the weight of clothing around it. It’s a memory, a reminder, and a small smile tugs at your lips.

Zipping it up, he pushes a looped tag through the handles and then gets up, his hand reaching out for yours. You take it and allow him to pull you up, slightly shaky legs leading both of you toward the door.

His hand hits the lights on the way out, but you still spare a glance back at the apartment. It’s the last reminiscent of home that you really have, and Brock’s hand tightens on yours.

It’s not quite a real promise, but it’s a promise none the less, and you accept it. The door swings closed to the apartment and you only faintly hear it as you both begin to take the stairs by two, everything more realistic once you’ve left the safety of it all.

His hand squeezes yours once more and he presses a slow, loving kiss to your lips after you slip into the seat of his car. You realize faintly that the plate has been swapped to keep everyone off of his trail, and you let out a soft noise as his forehead presses against yours.

“We’re both going to be fine. And I promise; a nice little place in Japan when this is all over.” His hand runs along your jaw lightly and you smile slightly.

It’s not quite the truth but it’s not quite a lie either. You both know the severity of what’s going to happen. It’s in his whiskey eyes as he kisses you for the last time, and for the first time you realize the sincerity hidden beneath them, gleaming like the metal on his finger is in the exposed sunlight.