Military affairs often affected the lives of everyone who was connected with them, mainly in the form of bad habits. It's not like Brock had an addiction or anything close to it, but he visited the bar more than once a week. Drink, drink and more drink.

Bright rays of the sun barely made it through the curtained drape. The apartment was immersed in morning silence, which was occasionally interrupted by the rustling of sheets. He slowly opened his dark eyes and sat up in bed with a slight groan. Head was buzzing slightly from a hangover, but when someone on the other side of the bed turned over, all the discomfort disappeared as if by magic. Apparently he had a companion last night.

Rumlow gave the man next to him only a tired glance and stood up, picking up his clothes from the floor.

"Wake up, doll. It's time for you to go."