Rumlow wasn't about to go climbing back into his uniform either, though the black cargo pants, black t-shirt and his jacket didn't appear much different. There were no logos though, since he wasn't a brand name kind of guy and even those items of his which happened to have them were removed. He refused to be a walking advertisement.

"I'm surprised a soldier with your history sleeps in a bed honestly," he said as he examined himself in the small mirror in his locker. He quickly rubbed his hair with the towel then styled it with a bit of gel. "Half the time, I hit the floor and sleep there, but there's always something to be said about the stamina of you old timers. You guys seem to bounce back from everything."

Except maybe that whole 'sorry we turned your best bud into the most successful assassin of all time' thing. Pierce wasn't ready to use that punch line yet. He hoped Rogers didn't kick it before that came to light, if it did at all.

He took the pen and notebook, scribbling down his address quickly and without hesitation. He even was kind enough to write down the buzzer number to his apartment, so Rogers wouldn't have to look for his name on the board. He was a nice guy after all, helpful to boot. "You got any preference for drinks? Or... do you eat shitty snacks, or are you all healthy and all that?"