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The mission had gone wrong, the Intel had been fucked and Jack was going to have a fantastic scar. S.T.R.I.K.E would never have fucked up like this, but Pierce got jealous after setting his sights on Jack and had the team disbanded. The strain had been too much and Brock had walked out after a fight and never come back.
With shaking hands, he scrolls through his phone book and rings the only person he wants to talk to right now. He knows it’s wrong to call Rumlow so late, knows he’s risking waking the person he’ll be in bed with, but he has no-one else, he never has. Holding a towel to his bleeding face, he hits the call button.
Brock answers, he always does and it’s so good to hear his voice, so good to hear the way he says his name, even if it is in hushed whispers.
He’ll never admit that it breaks his heart to hear she’s in the next room, nearly as much as it hurts to hear him call her /my girl/. He’ll never admit he wants him back, he’ll ever admit he still loves him because they’re hydra and they don’t use that stupid 4 lettered word.
He hangs up and holding back a shiver of revolution he looks up Pierce’s number…He has to move on, for Rumlow.