( #002 ) FAKE MARRIED AU

[chatona]

the 'fake married' meme

be it for a job, in order to get your inheritance or to fool your nosy neighbours, you are pretending to be married. now the question is, do you want it to be real or can you hardly wait for it to be over?

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[skulland]

[ It takes every ounce of willpower Brock has not to start laughing as he watches Jack struggle to make sense of what he’s hearing. He knew when he’d said it that his reaction was going to be priceless, but this is making him wish he could’ve recorded it for later viewing, whenever he needed a quick pick-me-up after a long, aggravating day. He manages to stay balanced on the edge of is he or isn’t he joking until Jack finally gets it together enough to look disgusted and pushes his face away.

That alone prompts him to toss back his head with a bark of laughter, grinning from ear to ear in pure, unadulterated amusement. When he’s in the right kind of mood, and even sometimes when he’s not, sometimes especially then, Jack’s a joy to tease. This is shaping up to be one of those moments.

Settling back on the couch, he’s not the least bit surprised to find his gaze slipping downward to that strip of flesh revealed by the parting of Jack’s robe. Maybe that’s a deliberate distraction on his part, but if it is, Brock doesn’t mind being predictable. His fingers itch to slide up his leg and peel back some more of that cloth, but he doesn’t. Just like he doesn’t do any of the other half dozen things his mind offers up as potential ways to while away the hours until the evening. One, however, stands out as a potential means of apology, should he need it, and he tables it for use just in case it becomes necessary.

Or even if it doesn’t. ]

You mean before?

[ There’s a hint of playfulness in the question that he lobs back in Jack’s direction, lifting his eyebrows like he’s teasing him again. But it’s only a hint. Brock’s been thinking about it a lot. Mostly because he’s had to, thanks to the mission, and partly because Rollins planted the seed one night with an offhand remark about how they fight like an old married couple and the thought has refused to give up the ground it’s claimed in the back of his mind. ]

Nah, not really. [ He accompanies it with a tiny shakes of his head, glancing down at Jack’s hand where it rests against his leg. ]I thought about it a few times, but like you’d think about being president—[ Realizing as he says it that Jack’s never had that kind of thought, being the prince of a fucking country, Brock looks back up at him with a sheepish, barely there grin and scrambles for alternatives. ]—or an astronaut or a movie star or something else there was never any chance in hell you’d ever actually do.

[ He rolls his shoulder in a tiny shrug, not overly perturbed about it. He’d made the choices he had. He couldn’t go back and undo them. By now, he doesn’t want to. ]

Never had a childhood sweetheart growing up. By the time I fell in with SHIELD and Hydra, I figured that sort of thing just wasn’t in the cards for someone like me.

[ Reaching down, he covers Jack’s hand with his own. The pads of his fingers rub along the length of Jack’s, third one catching on the ring. Brock’s not giving his back. He knows he’s supposed to, but he isn’t going to. Jack picked these out, picked his out like it mattered, and maybe it means something, something he’s actively not thinking about, but he’s not handing it over to some bureaucratic asshole to sell back to someone else. ]

What about you? [ He poses the question carefully, quietly, feeling like he’s traversing a field littered with landmines. ] I know it was expected, being the prince and all, but did you ever want to?

[unfavorably]

[ Sometimes he wonders what Brock was like before he became an agent. Jack doesn't often ask and Brock rarely ever shares, but the thought does cross his mind from time to time. Over and over again he tells himself it's not important, it doesn't matter that he can't fully cobble together then and now. The now, it seems, is good enough. But, moments come flitting in and settling when Jack wants a further glimpse at the man he was. What he's beginning to truly learn is that there wasn't much difference. Perhaps he's a little more... rough around the edges now, but Jack has long since discovered he likes that.

His gaze falls to their hands and he watches, rapt, as Brock's moves over his. For an instant, his fingers twitch as if he means to turn over his hand and intertwine theirs together. But, that's just ridiculous. The last thing he needs is to sit here with Brock holding hands. That's a bit much. Even for his fantasies. Nevermind that he's fantasizing about holding hands.

He's losing it. That's the only logical explanation.

Letting out a quick exhale, his lips turn slightly into a frown. Marriage is such a strange topic for him. Brock is aware — marginally — about Lucinda. In the days leading into his escape from Gilboa, Jack did share information regarding his situation. But, he's never said anything about the brief "engagement" to Katrina. And he doesn't think it's particularly necessary information right now, either. Without even meaning to, his mind shifts to Joseph. Not like he's entirely surprised at the shift, but it's not something he wishes to delegate time to. Not right now. So, he clears his throat and shifts his gaze to stare at the monitors in front of them without really seeing anything. ]

No. [ The word is said carefully as if he's thinking it over and trying to come up with a neutral sort of response. In reality, he's attempting to navigate his own feelings and deciding how much he actually wishes to share with Brock. His lips thin as he chews on the inside of the bottom one for a moment. ] I was made to believe something was wrong with me from a young age and– [ He cuts himself off at the last second, changing his mind about being too honest. ] –decided then I wouldn't wish to burden anyone else. I began to see it as an obligation, a tool — a step to grant me the crown I sought.

[ Jack falls silent, his teeth grinding against one another as evidenced in the strange shifting of his jaw. ]

My feelings never mattered, so I learned to ignore any true desire.

[skulland]

[ Brock hates a lot of people. The drill sergeant back in Basic. A few of his COs in the military. Fury. Pierce. Strucker. Romanoff. But he doesn't hate anyone quite the same way he hates Silas and Rose Benjamin. They'd had something great, something precious, and they'd done their best to ruin it. They hadn't, of course, but they'd scarred it. Damaged it in ways that might never be repaired. Listening to Jack now, Brock feels the white-hot flash of the kind of fury he typically only feels on the battlefield, when his vision goes red and when it finally fades, he's covered in blood.
 
He doesn't interrupt him, doesn't even move, but when he's finished speaking, Brock clamps his hand around Jack's, pinning it to the couch like he thinks he's going to try to get away from him. With Jack, anything's possible. He never really knows how he'll react to the things he says and does and he's not going to give him the chance to duck and run. ]
 
They matter. [ He says it quietly, intensely, looking straight at Jack. ] Maybe not to those stupid fucks back in Gilboa, but they matter to me. Which, by the way, is the only reason that damn place is still standing.
 
[ Maybe that's too personal an admission. Maybe he should be keeping it to himself, playing it closer to the vest. There's just something about hearing Jack speak about himself like that, however, that Brock can't stand. It's like he still thinks he's somehow less than, and that couldn't be further from the truth. ]
 
If I thought for even a second that it wouldn't hurt you to burn the whole fucking cesspool of a country to the ground, I'd do it. Scrap this stupid mission and send a strike right now. Personally execute every useless fuck who ever made you feel like that. [ Without releasing Jack's hand, he uses his other to capture his chin and turn his face toward him. ] Look at me.
 
[ The command, there's nothing else it could be, is insistent, yet softly spoken. Brock ducks his head a little, lifts his eyebrows, like he's the one who has to shyly peer at Jack. ]
 
There is nothing wrong with you. [ For emphasis, he squeezes his hand. Hard. ] You got that? Never has been. There's a whole hell of a lot wrong with a lot of people, but not you. That God you talk about so much, trust he made you right. I do. 

[unfavorably]

[ Trust that if there is any opening for Jack to have a terrible reaction, he's going to do just that. There's a lot about himself and about his past that he doesn't like to discuss, and certainly doesn't like being thrown back in his face in the loosest or most literal sense of the word itself. His past is no one's business. If Jack is honest, he doesn't even want his past to be his business. Forgetting the trials he went through, or the terrible choices he made, or any of the bitter, bad things that rest just beyond the horizon of his memories, is definitely his preference. But, unfortunately, he knows things don't exactly work out that way. He's being forced to face all of his demons now, whether he likes it or not.

It does, of course, give him mind to wonder if Brock is meant to do this to him. Force him into personal reflection and make the attempt to right any of the wrongs inside the cobwebs of his mind. He's having a difficult time with it, however, and more often than not, winds up getting irrationally angry and down right vicious with Brock sometimes. Perhaps the strangest thing from that is that Brock still hasn't turned away from him. He just accepts that Jack is this way, sometimes feeds into the anger, sometimes throws it right back, and sometimes — like now — he soothes it like a balm.

This wasn't how things were supposed to be. (Or maybe they were, but that also requires an amount of personal reflection that Jack isn't quite ready for, either.)

The moment Brock starts speaking, Jack knows he's not going to want to hear this. Not that he's expecting something bad, but he knows it's something raw and unfiltered — just how Brock is. So, when the request comes, Jack doesn't look up. Not yet. He's not really ready for what he might see there waiting for him. Already this mission is making him feel weird and strange things, putting thoughts inside of his head that have no business being there, and the last thing he wants to do is see those things reflected in Brock's eyes.

But, he looks. He looks because Jack's been unable to deny himself anything since leaving Gilboa. And though he might not want to see what he suspects is there in Brock's eyes, he wants to know if it's there or not. His mind tells him he has a right to know. So, he looks, and he feels a twist of something in the pit of his stomach, feels the tingle of warmth bloom from the depths of his heart and spread outward over his entire body. The only saving grace of that mortifying reaction is he manages to keep his features schooled into an unreadable expression.

It's a difficult thing to hear, one he wants to believe down to the very bottom of his soul, but he doesn't know if he ever will. As much as Jack puts up the front that he is fine with himself, that this is how he is and there's no apologies for any of it, there are times when he just doesn't like who and what he is. And there's really nothing he can do about it besides just live with it. For several moments he remains quiet, staring at Brock, then shifting his gaze down to their hands. Jack would never say anything, but he likes the way that Brock makes him feel. There are times when he thinks that thinks might actually turn out okay.

Still, there's a part of Jack that can't accept this for what it is and he must skirt around the issue. So, he sighs and drags his gaze back up to Brock's face. ]

I think this mission has turned you into a bit of a dramatic.

[ As much as he'd like for his words to be chiding, they aren't. And that point is made even further by Jack shifting on the couch so he's closer, turning more into Brock and bringing his other hand up to rest against his cheek. It's used as small leverage to turn them toward each other so he can capture his lips in a slow, burning kiss. His movements are purposely slow, wanting to get as much out of that kiss as humanly possible. ]

[skulland]

[ Brock does not, in any way, want to encourage self-reflection. If he starts prodding Jack along that path, he’s going to have to follow suit, and life’s taught him in its most heavy-handed manner that his destination rarely matches up with that of anyone else. If he starts poking around in the depths of his shriveled, shrunken heart, he’s going to find undeniable proof of what he already knows and just blithely pretends to ignore.

He cares about Jack a lot. Not the prince of Gilboa and the trappings of power that come with the title. Not the promise of some inheritance should he ever come back into possession of it. Just Jack. Just the spoiled, petty, pissy, contrary, bratty, arrogant, selfish little shit that makes up Jack Benjamin.

Because he sees what’s under all that armor. He’s sees the hurt Silas and Rose have caused, the wounds that don’t heal and the scars that haven’t faded. And sometimes, when he least expects it, he catches glimpses so fleeting of who Jack might have been that he thinks that he might be imagining them. It’s those might-have-been moments that make who he is now all the more poignant and, at times, painful. It’s wearing on him, undermining all of the callousness and distance and cool disinterest Brock’s held toward the world at large. Worse than that, it’s making him love him.

And it’s getting harder and harder to live with Jack every day and pretend that he doesn’t. This mission is both a relief and a challenge, pretending that he loves the man he pretends he doesn’t love by letting himself love him openly and pretending that it’s fake. Even for a double-agent, it’s getting a little complicated.

Explosion or deflection: those are the two options from which he suspects Jack’s reaction to his words will come. Vitriol and anger or blasé mockery. It’s like rolling the dice, gambling for no prize at all, yet Brock can’t help watching Jack look at him, and then their hands, with bated breath. Waiting with a curious sense of anticipation.

Deflection, he thinks, as he hears the sigh and the words that follow. He’s about to roll his eyes, deliver some equally sarcastic retort to strip the residual weight from the declaration that he’s made, when Jack takes him by surprise with that kiss. And does it again a second later, when the kiss turns out not to be a quick, fiery affair that scrambles his mind with lust, but the kind of slow burn that makes his chest ache in ways he’s still not accustomed to.

Perhaps it’s too soft, too tender, to cradle the back of Jack’s head in his palm, but the kiss lends itself to the gesture and Brock doesn’t hesitate and overthink it. He just moves with the moment, sliding an arm around Jack’s waist and shifting closer as he surrenders himself to his mouth. There’s no fight in him, no need to direct the speed or the intensity of what they’re doing. Brock gives it over to Jack without even a hint of protest. There are other things he means to communicate than his strength, and he tries now, using lips and tongue to say without words all of the things he won’t allow himself to think, much less voice.

When the need to breathe forces him to pull back to steal a hurried sip of air, what he does voice is as flippant as what Jack had. ]

You think this is dramatic? [ Another quick intake of breath and he leans forward again, brushing his lips against Jack’s in a way that’s clearly, undeniably a caress. The effect’s only slightly ruined near the end, when Brock’s lips twist into a grin. ] Wait until you hear my vows.