' no one said it would be so hard '
>><<

WITH ONE LAST ATTEMPT TO REACH THE LIFT to go downstairs, a dark-haired male missed it. ''Well for fuck's sake,'' he growled as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. It has been a couple rough days at S.H.I.E.L.D's headquarters as commandant of the STRIKE team. This meant that he did everything that Nick Fury told him to do, such as working with Captain America. Annoying as hell, were the thoughts of the man as he walked downstairs by using the staircase. He needed a break. A serious break from everything that was going on in his miserable life after his wife left him with his son of eleven.

''Brock! Rumlow! Wait a second!'' came a voice from behind him. Oh no, not again. He turned around on his heels and crossed his arms. It was Nate. A friendly blonde man with blue eyes. He has good intentions, Rumlow knew that. But hell, he could be so annoying sometimes. ''What's up Nate?'' he tried to sound as nice as he could, really. He was just so... tired of everything.
The blonde scanned his face for eventual signs of anger as he asked that one question. ''I see you're not feeling well,'' he admitted to the other. Brock frowned. The two were never that close so it was really weird that Nate showed actual interest in him. Was it that obvious that he seriously needed help? Why did he even care at all?
''I'm feeling fine, really,'' he grumbled as he shook his head no. ''Just let it be and fuck off.''
The other males eyes widened at his comment. ''Now I know you obviously need help. Just come with me. I know a perfect bar for you and me. We can talk there,'' he tried to convince him.

''I don't like to talk about my problems. I'd rather be alone to suffer on my own,'' he reacted coldly as his brown eyes snapped up to meet Nate's blue ones who lit up in a mischievous way. "More reason to come with me! A friend of mine is coming along too!" he tried again but this time with his usual enthusiasm.

As soon as the commander saw that it was pointless to have a decent conversation with this man, he decided to agree. ''Fine. But my drinks are on you, my friend.''
''Yay!'' Nate clapped slowly in his hands, his icy eyes sparkling with joy. ''That's wonderful.''

Later that day, Brock found himself in a bar with the same enthusiastic blonde who talked the ears off his head. The only thing he did was nodding or even scoff in agreement. He kept looking out for a blonde woman with brown eyes, most of the time wearing a leather jacket. At least... that was how this extraordinary man described his friend. He was in the need of someone new. Or someone else to talk to. That would be so nice right now.
''-- That shit was messed up dude,'' Nate ended his story causing him to hum in agreement again. ''Yeah... And I need another refill,'' he commented dryly as he nodded to the barkeeper who took his glass away for a refill.

''Sorry I'm so late,'' a soft voice came from behind both males. ''I had trouble at work. Again.''
This time it was Brock's eyes who lit up as he glanced over at the woman. She was truly beautiful. Someone he really needed right now. He stirred as he heard his own thoughts. No. The Captain of the STRIKE team needed no-one. He was strong enough.
''What's your name pretty?'' he hummed before taking another sip of his whiskey. He didn't want to focus on the blonde woman, so he tried to focus on the liquid that burned down his throat. A pleasant feeling as well.

''The name is Liza, and I heard you needed help?'' Her reply came out of her mouth as a question, which made him smirk slightly.
''Sweetheart, I don't need any help. Thank you.''