Minutes turned into hours, and with each passing moment it became more and more tangible. This often happens when the whistling of bullets and adrenaline rushing through the veins gives way to quiet reconnaissance missions.

Rumlow sat silently and almost motionless in the driver's seat, not saying anything other than giving orders for the entire six hours – after all, he was your commander. He forbade even turning on the tape recorder. It's amazing how he allowed breathing. His intense gaze was directed somewhere into the darkness, waiting for the bill to finally light up from the house across the street. The mission was simple, but so damn boring that he barely had enough patience. It would have been even worse if he had taken someone more annoying from his own rabble.

"Time?" – a rough, low voice cut through the silence, but Brock never turned to look at you. It was a short command to tell him what time it was, as if he couldn't do it himself. Or maybe it was an attempt to start at least some semblance of a conversation.