Chapter 4
Brock's out for less than a minute before his eyelids begin to flutter.
Darcy sits cross-legged on the floor, watching him rouse guardedly.
Jane procures a packet of saltines and hands them to the pale brunette. "Nibble on these. Google said that they'll help settle your stomach."
Darcy nods silently. "Thanks. I think I broke him."
"Nah, he's just in shock." Jane shakes it off. "He'll be fine. Do you want some tea? I'll make peppermint."
Darcy scrunched up her nose and shakes her head. "Ew. No thanks. Do we have any blue Gatorade?"
Jane shakes her head regrettably. "No."
"Damn." Darcy pouts. "Fine. I'll get some the next time I go to the store. Add it to the list on the fridge. The one pinned up by the New Mexico magnet."
Jane hesitates. "They're pretty high in sugar. Maybe I should do some research and make sure they're safe to drink when you're pregnant."
"Sure." Darcy allows. She looks at her best friend when she recalls some information from the website she'd skimmed through yesterday. "Did you know that I shouldn't eat soft cheese? How sad is that? No more brie for me."
Jane hisses through her teeth. "Oh. That sucks."
Darcy nods solemnly. "Yeah."
Brock groans and rolls over.
Darcy pins her gaze on him.
He pushes himself into a sitting position, leaning against the laundry basket. "Jesus." He mutters, rubbing his eyes. "Why's it so fucking bright in here?"
Darcy looks over at Jane.
The astrophysicist backs out of the bathroom. "I'll be in the kitchen. Making breakfast. Toast. Or maybe pancakes. Or cereal." She disappears.
Darcy hugs her knees to her chest and turns her gaze to Brock, who stares at her like it's the first time he's seeing her. She feels her cheeks redden under his scrutiny.
"Your hair looks pretty," Brock says uselessly.
"Sure it does," Darcy says, unconvinced. "Did I break you?"
Brock grunts and runs his hand through his hair roughly. "Darce, sweetheart, you've fried my brain. I'm gonna need another minute."
"Okay," Darcy says. Her gaze floats up to the ceiling. She gets to one-hundred-and-thirty-two before Brock disrupts her count.
"Fuck." He curses. Darcy looks at him. "Fuck. I can't believe this is happening."
"Makes two of us," Darcy says with a meagre shrug. "I- uh, didn't exactly see this coming."
"Right," Brock mutters. He expells a heavy breath. "Fuck. I gotta tell my ma."
"Yeah." Darcy nods slowly. "I gotta tell my dad."
"You keeping it?" Brock asks, expression guarded.
"Yeah." Darcy purses her lips anxiously. She hates how good he is at hiding his emotions. "Are you okay with that?"
His shoulders slump an inch. "Yeah, sweetheart. I'm okay with that."
"Cool."
"Cool," Brock parrots.
Darcy plays with her hands nervously, gnawing on her bottom lip.
Brock closes his eyes. "I don't even know how old you are. How fucked up is that?"
"I'm twenty-five," Darcy says. "I don't know your middle name."
"James," Brock says. "You're twenty-five?"
"Yeah." Darcy nods. "Twenty-six on May fifth."
"Fuck." Brock looks at her. "I'm forty-three."
Darcy blinks. And then blinks again. "What?" She squeaks.
Brock chuckles humorlessly. "I'm forty-three, sweetheart."
Darcy regards him with wide eyes. "I thought you were in your early thirties."
Brock shrugs. "The serum lags the natural ageing process."
"Serum?" Darcy's sure her voice is so shrill that the mirror rattles. "You have a serum? Like Steve?"
"Thanks to Hydra." He says. "You didn't know that?"
"No. I didn't know," Darcy whispers, dismayed. She lets her face fall into her hands. "Oh no. I don't know anything about you."
Brock tarries for a moment. "You got a middle name?"
Darcy peeks at him through her fingers. "Yeah. Maria."
Brock takes the information in his stride. "What's your favourite colour?"
Darcy sighs. "Brock-"
"I bet it's yellow. You wear a lot of yellow. I like that. You remind me of sunshine." He goes on. "I don't have a favourite colour. I like wearing black though. And my kitchen cabinets are navy blue."
Darcy slowly uncurls her limbs. "Yeah. I like your kitchen."
"Glad to hear it, baby." He smirks. "Was I right?"
"Somewhat." Darcy feels a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I like wearing yellow to work because everything else at Shield is dull and hard to look at. Very drab." She shrugs. "But technically, my favourite colour is red."
Never let it be said that she's not a loyal daughter.
Brock raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Red? I would never have guessed."
Darcy looks at him pointedly. "My car is red."
"You mean the car I've never seen you drive?" Brock chuckles. "You drive Jane's SUV to work."
"Right. Yeah." Darcy remembers. "It's easier to transfer equipment with the SUV. My car is, uh, smaller. Not as practical."
"Oh yeah?" Brock smiles teasingly. "Is it a Honda? You look like a Honda girl."
Darcy snorts. "Not quite."
Her dad would sooner abandon arc reactor technology before letting her drive a Honda.
"Intriguing." Brock squints. "What bra size do you wear?"
Darcy cocks an eyebrow. "Thirty-six double-d. Pregnancy makes them bigger though, so look forward to that." She smirks when his eyes drop down to her chest. "What trouser size do you wear?"
"Thirty-eight waist." He shoots right back. "You got a degree?"
"Sure. I majored in political science and minored in electrical engineering." She doesn't elaborate. "How long have you been working for Shield?"
"I joined after I left the Navy. I was twenty-seven. So I've been working for Shield for sixteen years." He says. "Why do you work as Foster's assistant if you've got a poli-sci degree?"
"Because I love Jane and she'd forget her head if it wasn't attached." She says. "I do use my degree, though. I'm the official intelligence liaison between Asgard and Earth."
"Sounds dangerous." Brock frowns.
Darcy smiles. "Not really." She says. "I do my best to make sure Asgard stays well informed about Earth's affairs. They thank me by doing the same in return. I've got allies above and below. It's a good position to be in."
Brock nods slowly. "Sounds like it. You're close with Thor?"
"Sure. He's Jane's boo and my lightning bro." She grins. "I always wanted a big brother. Used to pray for one when I was little. I guess Frigga heard me."
"Frigga?" Brock knits his brows together at the unfamiliar name.
"Thor's mom," Darcy says.
"Ah. You don't have any actual siblings?" Brock asks.
Darcy shakes her head. "No. I'm an only child. You?"
"I got a kid sister. Elena. She's a few years older than you." He says. "Has a little boy, Marcello."
"Very Italian," Darcy notes.
"My grandparents were immigrants. I was born and raised in the Bronx." He adjusts his legs into a more comfortable position. "Maria." He says her middle name, rolling his tongue. "That's Italian."
"On my paternal grandmother's side," Darcy affirms. He takes the empty cup and fills it up for her. "Thanks."
"No problem, baby." He murmurs, watching her take a sip. "You grow up in New York?"
"Kinda." She takes a deep breath. "My parents shared custody, so my time was split evenly between New York and Malibu."
"They weren't together?" He doesn't sound sympathetic, just curious.
Darcy laughs shortly. "No. Never. I was the result of a one-night-stand."
Brock watches her carefully when he asks. "You have a good childhood?"
"Yeah. I did." Darcy says easily. "A real good one. I might not have been planned, but my parents never let it show." Her smile falters. "My, uh, my mom died when I was thirteen."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Brock says and opens his arms invitingly. Darcy pauses for a second before shuffling into them, settling against his chest. He wraps his arms around her and exhales. "She have a good life?"
"Yeah." Darcy nods with a small sniffle. "Saw the world. Raised a kid. She got to do everything she wanted to do." She takes his hand in hers and fiddles with his fingers. "It was cancer. Cervical. It crept up on her. She was only thirty-three." She takes a shaky breath. "I get a screening every six months now."
"Good girl." Brock unties her hair and starts running his hand through her curls, gently untangling the knots. "You religious?"
"Nah." Darcy shake her head. "I'm agnostic. I'll believe it if I see it."
"My parents are Catholic," Brock says. "I don't observe now, but I used to when I was a kid."
"What changed?" She asks, treading carefully.
"I joined the Navy." He says shortly. He tugs on a knot and she winces. "Sorry, baby."
Darcy hums in acknowledgement, closing her eyes and letting the steady beating of his heart relax her. "I'm six weeks along. Just shy of two months. It's still early."
Brock brushes the tips of his fingers over her stomach. "Six weeks."
"Yeah," Darcy says quietly. "I'm scared."
"Good. Because I'm fucking terrified." He admits gruffly.
Darcy giggles wetly. "Wow. I had no idea that you could actually feel emotions, Commander Rumlow. Huh. Who'd have known."
"Alright. Alright. Laugh it up, Lewis." He says, resting his chin on her head. "When do you wanna start telling people?"
"Um." Darcy looks up at him through her lashes. "I don't know. Is it too early?" She asks. He shrugs. "Okay, well, uh, I really want to tell my dad."
"We can do that," Brock says resolutely.
Darcy blinks, brain short-circuiting. "We?"
Brock frowns, eyebrows drawing together. "Yeah, baby." He squints as he attempts to read her expression. "What? You don't want me meeting your old man?"
"Oh god." She whispers. "Um. No. It's not that."
Brock raises his eyebrows. "What is it, then?"
"Um." Darcy squeaks. "It's just that- well, my dad's a bit, uh, intense. And he has heart problems. And lots of, um, guns?" She carries off. "Yeah, guns. Lot's of them."
Brock narrows his eyes. "Guns?"
"Yep." Darcy chirps. "Also, well, we're not together. So I'd literally be introducing him to my fuck-buddy who is also going to be the father of his grandchild. I think he might have a hard time being okay with that."
"I'm not your fuck-buddy." Brock states.
Darcy looks up at him. "What?"
"You're the mother of my children." He says. "That makes you my girl. Not my fuck-buddy. You okay with that?"
Breathlessly, Darcy nods. "Yeah. I'm very okay with that."
"Good." He wraps his hand around her wrist softly. "I gotta tell you something."
Darcy's stomach flips. "Something bad?"
"I was engaged to Sharon Carter for five years." He says.
Darcy stiffens. "Oh. I didn't know that."
"It was before you and Jane started working at Shield." He says. "We broke it off last year."
"Last year," Darcy repeats. She inhales shakily. "You ended things with her before we started sleeping together, right?"
"Yeah, baby. Yes. Of course." He reassures. "Way before. Months before."
"Oh," Darcy says. "Five years is a long time."
"Yeah." Brock agrees. "Things weren't good between us for most of it, though. I was away a lot. So was she. When we did spend time together, all we did was argue." He sighs. "It was a relief when we finally agreed to end things. We spent a long time putting off the inevitable."
Darcy purses her lips. "I was engaged too." She admits.
Brock looks down at her sharply. "You were?"
"Yeah, for a year." She says. "To a guy named Ian. We met in London. It was very rushed. He proposed on the third date. I said yes because he did it in a restaurant full of people and I was too self-conscious to say no." She laughs quietly. "We broke it off when Jane and I decided to move back to New York."
"You still in love with him?"
"No," Darcy whispers. "Are you still in love Sharon?"
"No," Brock says.
"Cool."
"Cool," Brock repeats, amusement in his eyes. He sobers after a moment. "When are you telling your dad?"
"Tuesday. We're having dinner together." She tells him. "He's making Ossobuco."
Brock whistles lowly. "Nice. Authentic?"
"My nonna's recipe." She affirms. "I'll, um, I'll tell him about the, um, you know." She gestures to her mid-section.
"The baby?" Brock's lips twitch.
"Yeah," Darcy says breathlessly. "The baby."
Brock kisses her head. "You okay?"
"Yeah. It's just a lot." She says. "I'm worried about my dad."
"You think he'll be mad?" Brock asks, voice low.
"No. Not mad." She pauses to consider how to put her concern into words. "Okay, so you fainted, right?" She asks. Brock nods grudgingly. "Well, you see, my dad might actually go into cardiac arrest."
Brock makes a face. "Seriously?"
"Yes. It's happened before. When I told him Ian proposed." She sighs. "He's very overdramatic."
"You sure you don't want me to be there with you when you tell him?" He asks.
Darcy laughs. "Yeah, I'm sure. It's best if I break one thing to him at a time."
"Can I tell my ma?" Brock asks.
"Of course. You can tell her whenever you want." Darcy says. "Will she be happy?"
"She'll be thrilled," Brock says. "She's been begging me to give her another grandbaby since my sister had her tubes tied." He chuckles. "And she'll love you. So will my sister, actually."
"Yeah?" Darcy hums. "Why?"
"Because you don't take any of my shit." He says. "And you're not afraid to tell me when I'm wrong."
Darcy grins. "Yeah."
Brock kisses her head again.
They both look up when Jane clears her throat.
Darcy snorts at the sight of her. "Did the bag of flour attack you?"
Jane just stares at them. "I made crepes. A lot. Twenty, to be exact."
Darcy regards her with wide eyes. "Why?"
Jane bites her lip. "Um, well, you see.."
Brock leaps to his feet when a loud crash sounds from the kitchen, pushing Darcy behind him instinctively.
Darcy closes her eyes in realisation. "Oh no."
"Yeah." Jane winces.
Brock looks between them sharply, hand clutched around the handle of the knife concealed in his jacket. "Anyone feel like filling me in?"
"Oh no," Darcy repeats, pressing her face into Brock's back.
Jane looks at Brock. "I- uh, I kinda freaked out yesterday."
"Right." Brock narrows his eyes at the slim woman.
Jane purses her lips. "And maybe I called someone."
"Who?" Brock asks.
"Janey, Darcy-girl, come and eat before these crepes get cold!"
Jane pouts. "I panicked! I'm sorry!"
Darcy closes her eyes. "I thought he was in Switzerland."
"Not anymore."
"Girls, don't make me come and find you!"
Darcy whines lowly. "Jane, I can't believe you've done this. How could you?"
"I'm sorry!"
Darcy takes a deep breath and looks at Brock, who's staring at her intensely.
"You ever met a legitimately mad scientist before?"
"No?"
"Well, prepare yourself, because there's currently one eating crepes in our kitchen."