Chapter Text
The contract pops up on a Friday night in early January. It’s from a private party that has a clear grudge against the target with instruction to kill instead of capture. Not something they’ll be taking even with the large sum of money attached. They haven't done that kind of work in well over three months. Avoiding it in favor of asset retrieval, escort jobs or guard duty. Tangerine still likes to skim through just to see what the content is. To keep himself aware of what’s going on in the circles they run.
The target is revealed as the Sierra Six. Courtland Gentry, his real name, surprisingly provided.
Last Tangerine knew he was still working with the CIA. Even with that whole mess in Europe, it's still possible that Sierra Six remains a dog on a leash. The contract says nothing to dissuade that thought. It’s sparse but is clearly someone with a bone to pick. Revenge is more the goal than anything else. Though apparently Sierra Six has some intel that they also don’t want leaked. The private party has a name that keeps them relatively anonymous. Tangerine could do some digging to find out who it is, but has no intent to take this job. It’s not worth the effort.
At the bottom there’s a photo. Quite astonishing, considering how guarded Sierra tend to be with their identities. Tangerine’s brain comes to a sudden halt. A full few minutes of just staring, unmoving.
“Lemon?” Tangerine looks over to him sitting in the living room. He’s reading a book, a science fiction novel that Tangerine… borrowed. Ryland hasn’t said anything yet. He’ll return it. Maybe.
“Yeah?” Lemon doesn’t look up as he answers.
“Come look at this,” Tangerine hears Lemon sigh, putting the book down. He mumbles under his breath about it “just getting good.”
Lemon walks over to the stand behind Tangerine’s chair leaning over to look at the screen, “What you got?”
“This Sierra agent. I’m not crazy right?” Tangerine points to the photo on the screen. “He looks pretty similar, don’t he?”
“Hmm, yeah. There’s definitely differences, but they’re probably at least related,” Lemon keeps it cool. Unbothered. He’s good like that. “You try looking him up? Might be nothing to worry about.”
Tangerine starts going through every avenue he has to find information. The first few places he tries don’t turn up anything. Sierra are difficult this way. They always try to cover up every little thing. That being said, they can never scrub everything. The full name will eventually lead him somewhere. It takes long enough for Lemon that he goes back into the living room.
Finally after a bunch of scouring he finds something. Several somethings.
Cortland Gentry at 15 years old went to prison for the murder of his father. Courtland confessed to it. The reason, unknown. It ended with Courtland getting a minimum of 25 years in prison, a sentence he never completed. Officially, on paper, he died in a prison riot at 23 years old. Clearly that was a cover for his recruitment. His two younger brothers became orphans. Tangerine digs further using the father’s name, James Gentry. He was a cop before the death of his wife, Michelle. Maiden name Grace. It’s when Tangerine finds the names of the younger brothers that things finally line up. A pair of twin boys, just shy of five years younger than Courtland. Colt and Ryland Gentry. A simple change of last name gives him Ryland Grace.
The dots connect. Ryland Grace is Courtland Gentry’s brother.
“They’re brothers, Lemon,” he announces. Lemon looks up from his reading once more.
“What?” Lemon asks, brow furrowed.
“You heard me, Ryland Grace is Sierra Six’s brother,” Tangerine reiterates.
The question then becomes just how much Ryland knows or how involved he is with his brother. They’ve only been together for a couple short weeks. Did Tangerine make a poor decision? Did he accidentally expose himself and Lemon to the CIA? If he and Lemon are any indication, families being involved in the business or being recruited, as the case is for Six, are not strange. Far from it. It's a fairly common practice.
Tangerine and Lemon have enemies. For any number of reasons. It’s a common issue in their line of work. Doing a job for someone always negatively impacts another party. In addition to that, Tangerine and Lemon have information and connections. That has value. Value worthy of any number of tactics to obtain. Not all of which include death. Not immediately.
That being said, since he’s met Ryland there haven’t been any more attacks or attempts on either of them. Is that a coincidence? Tangerine doesn’t take much stock in coincidences. Not since the train when so much happened that seemed like chance, but was for the most part a small piece in a bigger scheme. Sure, they’ve been laying low and taking less high stakes work, but they still have a past.
Maybe that’s it though. There’s more than one way to get to someone. Not all methods are up front. In fact some of the most effective are more covert.
Is that possible for Ryland, though? He would like to believe it isn’t. Ryland isn’t a liar. He sucks at it in fact. He is, however, great at deflecting. In a sense isn’t that a form of lying?
Or maybe Ryland is so good at lying that he makes it look like he sucks at it.
Tangerine has never done it himself. Never had it done to him either. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know about honeypot missions. Rumors aren’t uncommon. In their line of work knowing about these things even from rumors is invaluable. If Ryland is a honeypot, then he’s a rare type. On top of that he's clearly in it for the long game. That makes almost too much sense. Trying to work his way in with a known operative would require a bit of time. Honeypot missions are often given long lead times. Trust needs to be established. That takes time.
Except Tangerine found trust in Ryland so quickly. Perhaps that’s what the stabbing had been. All part of the plan. So Ryland could find him and take care of him. His attacker, just unfortunate collateral in the scheme.
It’s all very speculative. Tangerine needs more evidence. He can’t let a little suspicion ruin his relationship. For all he knows Ryland and Courtland haven’t been in contact for years if not longer.
Tangerine knows in any other circumstance it would be unfair to Ryland. He has been avoiding him for the last few days. Keeping his responses to messages or in calls short and non-committal. Every time he feels himself being drawn in the thought that Ryland might not be all he seems, that his feelings might be fabricated, or that he might be an imposter come forth and make him pull away. He doesn’t go over to spend time. He refuses to walk with Ryland to the corner shop. He declines invites to help cook dinner or share a meal. He digs his nails into his own palms every time he feels the want to scale the balcony down to crawl into Ryland’s bed. He stares at the pictures Ryland sends him. A poor substitute for the real thing.
If his suspicions prove wrong he has been a terrible partner the last few days.
But what if he is right?
He knows avoiding Ryland will get him nowhere in figuring out the truth.
That and Lemon is getting sick of his moping.
He decides to go down unannounced on Monday. Ryland should be home by 5:30, easily. Tangerine knows he occasionally stays a little later at his potentially not real job or makes a pit stop on his way home. Something he has picked up from the couple occasions where he has been able to escort Ryland home. He has so far opted to meet him at the corner rather than in front of the school. A choice he made assuming his scary image might perturb some parents. A choice he regrets making now as it lessens the legitimacy of Ryland's employment.
The elevator doors open. Tangerine takes the first step out. Goes for a second, almost fully clear of the doors before coming to a sudden halt.
Standing at Ryland's door is Sierra Six. Proving without a doubt that they've been in contact. The sound of the elevator, old and in need of work, more than enough to alert Six to his presence. It feels like slow motion as his head turns and their eyes meet. Icy blue eyes narrow, calculating and sharp.
Tangerine feels a spike of panic, “Aw, bollocks.” He steps quickly backward into the still open elevator, tapping the close door button as quickly as possible.
The elevator doors slide shut on Court as he stands in the hall, perplexed. The twins aren’t unknown to him. They don’t exactly operate in secret or hide themselves typically. Not to the extent that was required of Court as part of the Sierra program certainly. Their presence here is concerning. He doesn’t know why they would be here. A mission or contract possibly?
The reaction, now that he thinks of it, is strange. Tangerine saw him before choosing to go back into the elevator. Court’s identity isn’t exactly as hidden as it once was since getting ejected from the CIA. It’s possible that photos of him have been leaked. A contract for his death or capture isn’t off the table either. The reaction Tangerine had doesn’t make much sense if he’s targeting Court. It does point to him potentially recognizing him. That is a problem.
A problem he is capable of handling if needed. He would prefer not to need to do anything drastic.
For now, he can only hope that the twins haven’t crossed paths with his brother. Or that they won’t become an issue for himself. He just got back into his brother’s lives. Claire finally has a bit of stability. He doesn’t want to uproot himself or Claire to go back on the run. Not after all the effort to get to this point.
Ryland has been cagey recently. Court knows there’s something going on. He tries not to push, but he can’t help but worry. Ryland is inclined toward hiding things that he thinks might worry others. Ryland may be prone to tears, but he still struggles to be vulnerable. Associating it with being burdensome. Not unlike either of his brothers. It runs in the family. One of the few things their father tried to instill that stuck. Mostly for Court. Colt and Ryland always had each other.
It’s distressing and painful to see Ryland hide things. Court hates it. He knows it isn’t due to a lack of trust. He would like to believe that Ryland knows that Court would do anything to protect him. He did it as much as he could when they were kids. He has been trying his best to show it again, now that he can be more present. Checking in with phone calls and visits as often as he can.
Court feels thankful for the fact that he chose to stay closer to Ryland. It means he sees Colt less, but Colt is quite capable. Far better at taking care of himself. To some extent this choice had been part of what made Colt finally warm back up to Court. Colt can only do so much to keep tabs and check in on Ryland. They are both far too aware of the fact that Ryland lacks self-preservation. Always has.
Court would be a hypocrite to call him out for it, given the amount of times he put his body in the line of fire. Using himself as a shield against their father's wrath. At the same time, inviting a bleeding stranger into his apartment was definitely not the safest choice. Definitely not something Court would ever do. Ryland is much too kindhearted and compassionate for his own good. Honestly, it's not that surprising. Colt nearly lost it when Court told him about it. Court managed to talk him down by promising to keep him informed. He’s certain that Colt still gave Ryland an earful.
Court returns his focus to Ryland’s apartment door as he lets himself in with his key. Ryland had gotten a spare made after the third time Court picked the lock. He looks around as he takes silent steps forward, documenting any changes. A useful habit he hasn’t broken. There’s a suit jacket draped on a hook by the door, that definitely isn’t Ryland’s style. On the kitchen counter is a container of tea next to the stove where a new kettle sits. Ryland isn’t a tea drinker. The most damning evidence that someone else has been here is on the dining table. A single brass knuckle that is so out of place it stops Court in his tracks. That is definitely not his. He has a set he rarely uses. They are hidden in his dresser drawer. Someone else... someone dangerous has been here.
He walks into the living room to find Ryland sitting with a packet of papers in hand, deeply enthralled by the contents apparently. He’s twirling a pen in his dominant hand. Court knocks his knuckles against the wall to alert Ryland of his presence.
Ryland practically jumps from his seat in surprise. The pen flies from his hand and hits the wall next to Court’s head, “Oh! Fudge!” his hand comes to his heart. “How is it that you always sneak up on me?”
Court answers the question with a raised brow as he crouches and picks up the green pen from the floor. The answer is obvious enough without him saying anything. Ryland sets down the packet on the end table beside him.
“You always show up unannounced,” Ryland tilts his head and crosses his arms. “One of these times you're going to walk in on something you don't want to see.”
“There’s not much that you could do that would bother me,” Court closes the distance, taking a seat on the coffee table in front of Ryland. He hands the pen off to Ryland, receiving a muttered thanks. “I’m desensitized to almost anything.”
Ryland gives him a strange look, bordering on disgust and intrigue. He must in that moment decide it's not worth pursuing the gritty details of what “almost anything” might entail. Court isn’t embarrassed to share, but he knows that if they truly got into it, Ryland probably wouldn’t like the details of the types of viscera he has seen. The scenes of exploitation that he’s had to investigate and intervene in. He’s dropped tidbits occasionally, only to stop himself shy of anything graphic. Ryland’s face often starts to contort in discomfort without the specifics.
“So what brings you by today?” Ryland leans to the side with his elbow on the arm of the couch, chin landing on his palm.
Court wastes no time, cutting right to the chase, “You’ve been hiding something.” It's not a question. Can’t be when Court already knows it’s a fact. He just doesn’t know what Ryland is hiding. That’s the issue. Court can’t keep him safe from something he doesn’t know about.
“What makes you say that?” Ryland challenges but can't seem to back it up in his voice or his body language. For all that his posture might look relaxed with the way he leans casually on the arm of the couch, there's a tenseness to his shoulders and a clenching of his jaw that gives him away.
“You’re anxious,” Court points out, Ryland goes to object, probably something about how he is “always anxious.” While not untrue, there's something more here, something different. "More so than usual. You’re also less talkative. More guarded. You can’t lie worth a damn, so you do it by omission. Even Colt has noticed. We’re both worried.”
Bringing Colt into this is a low blow, but Court knows it usually works.
“Just work, nothing to worry about,” Ryland tries, but his voice shakes and his eyes shift to the floor. His left hand tightens into a fist. He's trying to hide the subtle trembling. It's just as attention grabbing. There’s guilt blanketing him. Whatever is going on is serious enough to keep Ryland from cracking.
“Let’s just cut the shit,” Court responds, likely a bit too harshly. He justifies it with concern. At the end of the day he's just trying to protect Ryland. That's what he's always done. “Does it have anything to do with the items hanging around that clearly aren’t yours?”
Ryland takes a moment to look around, his eyes briefly landing on the entry way, “What are you talking about?”
“Even if I ignore the more innocuous items, the single brass knuckle is a dead give away that someone else has been spending time here,” Court leaves him with no room for argument. “So who is it?”
Ryland sighs, pulling his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose as if he has a headache coming on, “He left that here?”
“He?”
“I might have… gotten a boyfriend,” Ryland's cheeks color a dusty pink.
Court stares at him for a moment. Ryland shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny, his blush flaring even more. Court’s brows knit together, “A boyfriend who has brass knuckles?”
“I mean yeah. I think so,” Ryland still refuses to look at him. Clearly a little flustered and embarrassed. “He’s my neighbor, lives upstairs.”
“He got a name?” Court presses.
“He does,” Ryland pauses. Court expects more, but after a second it becomes clear Ryland isn't going to offer up much else.
“And? What is it?” Court leans forward, brow raised.
“Why are you interrogating me? There’s nothing to worry about,” Ryland pushes Court back. Court grabs his hand on instinct. He loosens his grip but doesn’t let go.
“You aren’t trained like I am,” Court argues, completely serious. Ryland shakes his hand free.
“No one is trained like you are,” Ryland says dismissively with an eye roll. He sneaks his way out around Court from the couch. He starts walking toward the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink? I should've offered-”
“Stop,” Court calls as he stands. Ryland stops mid step right by the dining table. His spine turns into a rigid line as he looks down at the offending object sitting on the table next to him. “Non-violent people don't own brass knuckles, Ryland. Someone who owns those is dangerous.”
Court has to strain to hear as Ryland refuses to turn toward him. His voice, quiet as he tries to keep it level and even, “I never said he wasn't dangerous.” Ryland reaches down and picks up the brass knuckles. Flipping them over once, twice before setting them back down with a distinct “clack” against the wood.
“Of course he's dangerous,” Court continues as he approaches. “How ca-”
“BUT he's not dangerous to ME!” Ryland raises his voice. It's so rare that for a second it shocks Court. The stance Ryland holds shifts in his mind. No longer defensive, but protective. He catalogs the way Rylands fingers dig into his upper arm, trying to ground himself. The shake of his shoulders that expose his distress.
Court takes a breath and raises his hands placatingly. He knows he isn't going to get anything across to Ryland at this point. He'd rather back pedal now and keep Ryland from completely pushing him out.
“Okay, okay,” Court waits a second, before continuing. Ryland exhales heavily. Court tries to lighten his tone as he smirks, “If anything happens I will neutralize him.”
Ryland picks up on the joke, even with how dry Court’s delivery is. That’s one of the things Court finds himself thankful for. The way his brothers can pick up on his intent even when he struggles to show it in his voice.
“Don’t go all Sierra on me,” Ryland rolls his eyes. “I'm not completely defenseless. I have it handled, trust me.”
“Oh yeah?” He tries to sound encouraging. He’d rather have Ryland sass him, than shrink away any day.
“Just because you're built like a brick house, doesn’t make me weaker,” Ryland returns, poking him square in the sternum, as if to prove a point. “There’s plenty of household items that I could use to poison a man.”
Court chuckles under his breath. As he goes to send a quip back at Ryland a clattering noise comes from the bedroom. He turns instantly, squaring his shoulders as he turns that direction. Ryland comes up behind him clasping a hand to his shoulder.
“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” Ryland tries to calm him, but his mind keeps pushing him to check. To make sure there are no intruders.
He shrugs off Ryland’s hand and starts toward the bedroom, his brain screaming at him for the fact he isn’t carrying a weapon. All his training telling him how foolish that is. Ryland stays behind him, trying to pull him back with words. He tunes them out, listening for any other evidence of a break-in. His mind is already on this track. If he doesn’t see it through, he knows he won’t be able to focus on anything else, even if it is nothing.
He opens the door slowly at first. When he hears nothing else he opens it the rest of the way, side stepping into the room and checking in every direction. Next to the desk a few books are haphazardly laying on the floor. Ryland isn’t the most organized person, generally leaving things in random places. It’s not uncommon to find books, school work, dvds or cds just laying about in several different places. His dresser often has a few t-shirts on top of it instead of in the drawers. He still cares for his things. Books on the floor in a messy pile are not typical.
Even less typical is the sliding door to the balcony being slightly ajar.
Tangerine hadn’t originally planned on sneaking into Ryland’s apartment after returning upstairs. It had actually been at Lemon’s insistence that he did. Lemon in his infinite wisdom telling him, “What’s the worst that could happen?” was enough for Tangerine. Famous last words, those. Either he would get answers or he’d get nothing.
It was also apparent that Lemon was getting tired of his pacing and circuitous concerns.
Whatever conversation that was happening was well underway by the time he carefully made his way down to Ryland’s balcony and let himself in through the sliding door. He heard Ryland’s voice most prominently as it raised in volume with distress. The temptation to go in there and interfere filled him. He feels surprised at the fact that his mind was prepared to move against a Sierra that quickly.
He creeps closer to the door. The conversation is muffled. He should've bugged the place. This is dangerous territory, being this close to a Sierra. Ryland doesn't give the impression of being trained with the same rigor. He could still be CIA involved though. He’s smart enough for it. He could easily work as a strategist or a handler. At this time the idea of him being in covert ops is the most likely in Tangerine’s mind.
Tangerine hears threats to neutralize. Ryland expresses his capabilities. It feels like it might be enough. The shock has him backing away from the door. He loses his balance as his heel catches the leg of the bed frame, bumping the desk.
He manages to stifle a curse. The stack of books that hits the ground has him scrambling. There's a sudden silence. Tangerine knows he should set it right to hide his trespassing. Footsteps. No time.
He opens the sliding door and scrambles back into the apartment above.
Tangerine stews on it for a couple days. His current brooding location, lying on the couch staring at the textured ceiling above. Carelessly flipping his knife open and shut in his right hand.
He feels listless. Unable to focus. A huge liability for the kind of work that he and Lemon pursue. They haven't picked anything up in a while, Tangerine has been too distracted to even look. He suspects Lemon, even with Tangerine's refusal to give details of what he overheard, is avoiding accepting jobs out of concern. At least one of them needs to be clear headed. Lemon has always been the better of the two of them in that regard. If Lemon is worrying after Tangerine it's a recipe for misfortune. Something that they want to avoid at all costs.
The scar on his neck itches.
Some part of him knows that if he gave Lemon any details, he might take matters into his own hands. There is no doubt that if push came to shove Lemon would take Ryland out if his proximity put Tangerine in danger. Tangerine’s feelings for the man downstairs would hardly matter. Tangerine can’t get the details out even if he wanted to.
He can practically hear Lemon going on a rant about Ryland being a “Diesel” right now.
Tangerine finds it hard to disagree with that sentiment considering what he overheard swirling around his head.
If Ryland is working with Six then the threat to neutralize Tangerine should be taken seriously. If Ryland is deceiving him then he is doing a damn good job of it. So good that Tangerine can’t even bring himself to let Lemon take care of him. If Ryland isn’t what he seems, then Tangerine has let himself fall into the trap. He doesn’t know how to get himself out. He doesn’t want to let Lemon do it for him. He can’t. This is his problem.
And yet…
He can’t see Ryland as a killer or even an accomplice.
The soft, sad eyes.
Kind words.
Caring hands.
That’s the whole point of a honeypot. To find the right buttons to push to get in close. Ryland has been very skilled in that way. The soft looks and kind actions may have drawn Tangerine in, but the trap hadn’t truly been sprung at that point. Tangerine could’ve easily gotten back out. It was when Ryland pushed, looking up at him with those precious blue eyes as he kissed his wounds that Tangerine had found himself well and truly trapped. He hadn’t noticed the figurative spring releasing the door, cutting off his escape from the cage. Too busy focusing on the other man straddling his lap.
A moment that felt so right. So perfect and beautiful. Tainted and ruined by suspicion.
Tangerine wants to believe that it was as real for Ryland as it was for himself. He doesn’t want that to all have been an act. He doesn’t know if his heart could handle it. He knows he should’ve known better than to trust, but he dropped his guard.
Maybe he should just cut ties now. He and Lemon can skip town, find a new place. It would be the coward’s way out, not his normal choice. Leaving loose ends is never the best option. Usually Tangerine would face this head on. He’s skilled enough. Ryland probably doesn’t know he suspects anything. It’d be so easy to catch him off guard. Even if Ryland caught on, Tangerine is more than certain he could take him down.
His stomach turns. His throat stings with the taste of bile. The thought of hurting Ryland with his own hands is sickening.
Tangerine feels almost certain that his theory is right. The evidence, however coincidental, is stacking up.
Almost doesn't feel like enough.
If he acts and turns out to be wrong, he'll never forgive himself.
He's already been a terrible boyfriend either way. He wouldn't be surprised if Ryland broke things off with him. Every text or call has gone ignored.
Tangerine runs a hand down his face, growling in frustration. He wishes he had never seen that contract. That he could've remained unaware. So what if Ryland kills him. He would've died happily oblivious.
Ignorance isn't a luxury afforded to him anymore.
Ryland has been left on read for four days. His calls have gone unanswered. He even thinks he’s caught glimpses of Francis ducking behind corners to avoid him. Again.
He had even tried knocking on the brothers’ apartment door. Even if Lemon answered the door, he would get something out of it, probably. After standing there for a few minutes, he had put his ear to the door. He could just barely hear hushed voices and careful quiet movements. He waited another few minutes before walking away.
It's when he goes down to go to the corner shop that he finally catches Lemon and Francis together. They are in the middle of a conversation, Lemon sounding exasperated with Francis. Ryland tucks himself back around the corner.
“I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer,” Lemon says. “You’re coming out tonight.”
“Why would I want to do that?” Francis responds.
“You’ve been moping and stressed out. You need to let loose a bit,” Lemon insists. “Maybe if you get some, you’ll stop being so prickly.”
“I am not ‘prickly.’ And I have a boyfriend,” Francis’ tone turns irritated.
“You’re still together? With the way you’ve been acting?” Lemon sounds entirely unimpressed. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Having a few strings attached never stopped you before.”
Ryland’s heart leaps into his throat. He covers his mouth with his hand to stifle a shuddering breath. He feels hopeful that Francis will set things right. That he’ll tell Lemon off. Sure things haven’t been perfect. Communication has been limited. That doesn’t mean they’re done or that Francis would cheat on him. Right? His own uncertainty is enough of an answer.
“It’s complicated,” Francis replies. Ryland feels it strike him right in the chest. “Fine, but you go ahead, I’m gonna take a bit to change and be ready. I’ll meet you there.”
“Yeah, yeah. You always do,” Lemon says. Ryland has to do everything he can to stay tuned in. He desperately wants to turn and walk back upstairs. To let the sting in his eyes turn into honest tears. “If you don’t show, I’ll come home and drag your ass out.”
“I’ll get there by 10. You know the early crowd sucks,” Francis gripes. “I swear. It's hardly a 20 minute walk. You can call and check, if you’re so worried about being abandoned. This elevator is taking forever. Let’s just take the stairs.”
Ryland hears their footsteps approaching. He doesn’t have the time or the clarity of mind to think of a reasonable plan. Francis walks square into his chest.
“Oh, for fu- Ryland?” Francis looks at him in horrified, surprise.
Ryland can’t even respond. His throat locks up the second their eyes meet. His body does the exact opposite. He’s moving and out the front entrance of the apartment building before he really thinks about it, not a single word uttered.
No footsteps follow him. No words of comfort meet his ears. Tangerine doesn’t try to stop him.
He turns the corner into the alley. The same he found Francis in. Ryland leans against the wall, trying to even his breathing and stop the watering of his eyes. He brings his palms up to his face, pushing his glasses up and out of the way. He takes a few shaky breaths that become slower and lengthier as he calms. He really does not want to cry here of all places. He sniffles as he pulls his hands away. Swipes his sleeve across his eyes, before clenching his hands into fists. Ryland eventually calms enough to go back inside. His intent to go to the corner store, completely forgotten. He feels empty in a way that he hasn’t sunk into in a long time. Like a piece of him has been carved out.
He decides right then. Enough is enough.