*** HARMONIA has joined 710.35.155.17 <HARMONIA> Buongiorno, sorry I missed you. <HARMONIA> I'll happily get back to you as soon as I'm done with whatever business I'm on. <HARMONIA> Please leave a message.
[At that, he looks genuinely confused. That's not what he was expecting, and he's really not sure what to do with it. He's done a lot of bad things, but he doesn't know why anyone would have the motivation to go to his boss and tell him any of them specifically. More than that, compared to other people here . . .]
[Tipping his head a bit to the side, birdlike, he considers that offering the obvious is the best path forward. It's annoying to be put in this position, but he'll cope.]
Before I got here, I was a criminal. Is this regarding something specific?
[It doesn't occur to him that it might be about that. It doesn't even occur to him that the person who brought up concerns was Doppio, simply because they've had an unspoken truce for so long at the clinic. But things have changed.]
[It takes him a minute. It really does. Which is naive, and he'll lambast himself for it later, but somehow this has always seemed like such a neutral space. They never had a real truce, he and Doppio, but the clinic was always important to both of them. They coexisted. They didn't make trouble.]
[But there's only one thing Dr. Pierce could be referring to, and only one person who could have told him.]
[There's a sudden rustle, bark against flower against leaf, like the jungle rising up to attack — but he forces the vines at his back to wrap tight around his upper arms, holding him steady. He's pale. Not with fear but with rage, and that shows clearly. This is without question the most emotion he's ever seen inside the clinic's walls.]
I see.
Yes. I did. I'm happy to give you the full story; I'm certain you don't have it yet. But if the fact that I admit it is enough to make me unsuited to continue here, I respect that. I don't want to disrupt this place. I never have.
I'm sure I don't have it, too. That's why I wanted to talk to you.
[He can see that shift in Giorno's mood, and he has a nasty feeling that he's just dropped Doppio in it. He's been trying not to name names, but there's only so subtle he can be, really.]
[He sighs, picking up his coffee mug, although he doesn't drink from it.]
I don't want to lose you here, Giorno. You're a good kid, you work hard, you're a lot of help. So, uh... tell me what I'm missing?
[He wishes he could have been a fly on the wall for that conversation. He'd love to hear it. He's trying not to think about it, trying to calm down, to condense everything he's feeling into a tiny dense package and swallow it down, because this is important. This matters. Not only for his job, or even mostly for his job, but for the truth.]
[Fingers clenched into fists on his lap, he nods sharply and begins, not looking away from Hawkeye for a second.]
The man in question was the leader of the organized crime family that led — controlled — my city. He spent decades peddling an unusually strong opiate to a city broken by poverty, systematically targeting the weakest people out there. There's no way to calculate the number of people who suffered and died because of his desire for power. To keep his workforce strong, he facilitated those with no other choice but to join his organization — including children — going through an ordeal that either left them with fantastic powers, or dead.
He wanted to be God. He wanted to be invulnerable, so much so that when he found out he had a daughter he had never met, who didn't know he existed either or anything about him, his response was to try to kill her. At fifteen. She'd never been involved with any of this. And when he couldn't kill this girl, he threw all the force of every sick mind at his disposal after her, because he couldn't stand the idea of her surviving.
One of them was a doctor, by the way, who enjoyed torturing patients. [Not Steve, not that time, but that doesn't mean he didn't think of—] He almost destroyed the entire city of Rome, for fun. This is one of the people he threw at a teenage girl for the crime of being related to him.
Before I came here, I didn't know many people who mattered to me. I could count them on one hand. He killed three of them. Two of them, he punched a hole right through. [Giorno balls up his fist and presses it against his solar plexus.] Right through. I can still smell their guts. The third one, he impaled on a fence. My job was to f— to fix them. To keep them safe. And I couldn't.
And that still wasn't good enough for him. He wanted his daughter dead, and he wanted an amount of power that I couldn't let him have. So I took it myself.
[Letting out a sharp exhale, he lays his hands out flat, palms atop his knees, jaw set. Here it is. Here's the problem.]
What I did to him, I didn't know I could do. I didn't know how to undo it after. But I'm not going to sit here and promise you that I regret it, or that I'd undo it now if I could. I don't know the answer to that. What I can tell you is that that man would do all of it again, because he was here in July and so was she, and he did. And just like the first time, Doppio helped.
[Hawkeye listens. He goes on listening for a good couple of seconds after Giorno's finished talking, in fact. Part of it's that he doesn't want to tread on the younger man's toes, not when he's retelling what's clearly a traumatic thing to remember. Part of it is that he doesn't want to risk responding too soon, saying the wrong thing.]
[Part of it is that he needs a minute to fight down his own anger.]
[Not at Giorno. Not at Doppio, either, really. Just... God, what is wrong with people? Seoul to Chicago to Bavan to Rome. Everywhere he looks, people seem to get their lives torn apart by people who just don't care. He's really, really tired of meeting teenagers who know what death smells like.]
[The mug in his hands is shaking. He sets it down, flexing his fingers. He needs a goddamn drink.]
...Thanks. That, uh.
That fills in a few blanks. [And raises so many more questions. And brings him back to the horrible thought that now he's back to square one, not knowing who to trust.]
I don't need to know if you'd undo it. I just... [He frowns, grimacing. A thin sheen of mould is growing on the surface of the coffee, the porcelain black with decay where he gripped it.] I need to know you wouldn't do anything like it again.
Not even to the guy who killed Steve. [It's there, and he can't quite bring himself not to say it.]
[And then he . . . doesn't say anything. For a while. A few weeks ago he would have known the answer instinctively, automatically. Now he's just — so tired. The anger is burning out and he's just so tired.]
[He pokes at it carefully, like a loose tooth. If it was Fugo or Trish or Mista or Riley — here, where people don't die permanently anyway — but then what? What's the instead, for something like this, in a place like this? He still thinks Diavolo deserved it. He wishes he'd never left that place in his own mind that Gold Experience sent him.]
[But.]
[Shoulders slumping slightly, he shakes his head, unsure.]
I don't know. I don't know what else . . . what other way there is to stop someone like that. Here. I don't know how to keep them safe any other way.
I know. [His voice is very quiet, and, despite the frustration and anger that runs like razor wire behind it, gentle. Genuine. Serious.] I know, it's...
I don't know how you keep people safe, either.
[He scrubs a hand over his eyes. This is, it turns out, a bad idea in his current state, as his eyeballs have started to shrivel in their sockets, and the skin around them is like wet tissue paper. Way too easy to tear. He has to look away for a moment, to push his eye back into place, and... honestly, it's kind of a relief. It's hard to look at the kid, right now.]
I don't have any answers. And I'm sorry, Giorno, I really am. But this is a clinic. People need to be safe if they come here.
[It feels like he's looking at someone else, just for a moment. Or the possibility of someone else, maybe. Is something like this what would have happened to Bruno if his body hadn't died a second time? Would he have been stuck even at this stage, soul stapled to a body falling apart at the seams?]
[He couldn't have done anything else for Bruno. He knows that. But everything he sees, especially right now, spells out what-ifs.]
[Still, he listens. He watches, not averting his eyes, feeling the creeping guilt crawl up his back, the knowledge that he's making something worse. After another long pause, he nods.]
. . . I wanted to work here because being here and not being able to help like I'm used to made me sick. That's — more important than anything else to me.
[Even when he's angry. Sometimes he just can't see it. But it's always under there, somewhere.]
I don't want to do it again. I want to help. That's . . . the whole point.
[He sighs heavily, turning back to Giorno with one hand over his damaged eye. I need a drink and an acid bath. And someone to eat. Something to eat. Something.]
[But it's going to have to wait a while longer. This is more important.]
You help a lot here. You know that, right?
It can get to feel a bit hopeless, patching up the same people over and over. But it's helping. And it's been one hell of a lot easier with you around.
...I'm going to need to think about it. [And maybe drink about it.] This is... a lot. It's a lot.
[Whatever he was expecting next, it's not reassurance. With his walls so thoroughly knocked down, that shows, too, eyes wide with surprise. Some part of him fights against it, but — after all of this, that would be a ridiculous thing to lie about. So maybe it's true.]
[He lets the words percolate, settle, saves them to sift through later. His smile is faint, exhausted, and mostly genuine.]
Thank you. I appreciate that.
[Even if he's still trying to decide if it's true. Right now, that barely matters. He hesitates, then deliberately stretches his fingers out wide on his knees, releasing the tension.]
I understand. Whatever you need to do. But . . . I'm sorry for upsetting you. I didn't intend to.
[Damn. He was hoping, despite everything, that it would be less obvious. That he could brush off any suggestion of upset.]
[It seems pretty ridiculous to try, though.]
It's not...
[He wrinkles his nose, pulling a face.]
None of it's personal. I don't want this to be personal. And I'm sorry it's come up now, of all times. It's just... it's bad timing.
[Clearing his throat, he reaches over with the hand that's not over his eye, pulling a shorthand pad towards him and scribbling without looking. A prescription for himself, after a fashion.]
I'm going to talk to Doppio again. Dig into this a little bit more. Not that I don't trust you, you understand, I just need to know both sides. [I need to know whether either of you are safe working here.] I'm not going to ask you to quit. Not unless I'm sure.
...Are you sure you don't need some time off, though? With everything that's been happening. I'd totally understand if you wanted to take a break and clear your head.
[Historically, when he's tried to keep things from becoming personal, it hasn't worked. It's backfired magnificently, actually. Last time he ended up having feelings about people, which was really inconvenient. This time he doesn't bring it up, because he sort of suspects Dr. Pierce already knows.]
If you think it's best, I'll take time off, but otherwise I'd rather not. Without something to focus on— [He stops short, rephrases:] It helps. [Not without it I'll lose my mind, that's not going to help either, even if it's true. He doesn't look in the direction of the back room, so pointedly that he makes it obvious he's trying not to.]
[There's the other thing, too. Trish is still here. She's got the deadman's switch, but the emphasis in the name isn't exactly comforting. He hesitates, uncertain how much he should say. Accusing Doppio outright of homicidal intention towards a teenager who lives with him isn't going to make this any easier to navigate, but—]
[What a mess.]
Could you— [Hm.] The girl I mentioned. Not that I expect you would, but please don't share that information. She's here, and she doesn't like to be talked about. Especially not when it comes to that.
[He can't really argue with that. There is, after all, a reason that the only times he's left the clinic in the last week have been for his shifts at the school. Something to focus on goes a long way.]
[So he just nods, making a low sound of agreement, and rolls his chair back to dig a roll of bandages out of a cabinet nearby. After all, he can't just keep holding his eye in with his hand forever.]
I wouldn't dream of it.
Honestly, I feel bad I even let you know who came to me, but... [But there wasn't really any way to avoid it, not that he can see.] But I don't need to tell him anything he hasn't already told me. Just... push for a bit more detail, is all.
Can you give me a hand with this? Just... hold the bandage, there?
[He gets up and makes his way over to the desk, seeming immediately more at ease doing something he knows how to do well. This is what he came here for in the first place, after all. This is easy.]
[Following Hawkeye's instructions, he holds the bandage still, careful not to move when he sighs.]
It would have been impossible not to. He's the only other one who knows. [Except the man in question, and now Dr. Pierce . . . which is the other thing that's rubbing him the wrong way. It feels dangerous, somehow, that someone else has become involved — not to him but to the doctor. If Diavolo is still here, and he has reason to believe he is, then . . .]
[He hesitates. He could try to apply logic to this, but it seems futile. The man was insane before what Giorno did to him. Predicting what he'd do if he found out Doppio shared such a personal weakness feels like trying to hold back the ocean. It feels . . . inevitable, in a way, that he won't be here much longer himself, but does that mean he should say more?]
I'm not . . . going to confront him. Regardless of what happens. If you were worried about that. He's good at his job. I don't mind working with him. And I don't think he would wish to cause you harm himself. But — there's only one person he's loyal to.
[If Diavolo hadn't been here, would Doppio have gone after Trish? No. He really doesn't think so. That's what makes all of this so sickening.]
He's not his own person . . . in a way. When he's got his orders. It's more than a job. . . . Please be careful.
[That's a relief, anyway. Not a complete relief, but...]
[But Giorno's not going to start anything. And Doppio can stay on separate shifts for the time being. It's going to be tough when the fog rolls in, when he wants all hands on deck, but it's a start.]
[He wraps the bandage quickly around his own head. Once he's got one loop around, and he can take his hand away from his eye without it falling out, it's pretty easy. As he works, he looks up at Giorno with the other eye.]
Yeah. His boss. I know. Met him a while ago.
[Or a version of him, anyway. Not that he would recognise Diavolo if he fell over him - as far as he's concerned, Doppio's "Boss" is a tall man in a fedora whose face was unclear and made Hawkeye's brain hurt to look at.]
[Oh, yeah. That. That . . . was a very strange situation, wasn't it. It was probably the closest he's ever come to feeling bad for Doppio. I don't understand why you're so devoted to someone who doesn't trust you enough to let you see his face, is what he said, back when he thought there might be something there to salvage. What he learned was how alone Doppio is, really — or how alone he believes himself to be.]
[The cognitive dissonance of feeling pity and bitter disgust for the same person ends up festering into disappointment, apparently.]
[Giorno makes a face, then quickly unmakes it, expression going fully neutral again.]
It's not that. [Although yeah, Hawkeye did answer his own question there.] You've been here longer than I have. I don't doubt you can handle yourself. It's just that I'd rather that particular person not kill anyone else I like, even if it's only temporary.
I'd rather not get killed, either, so we're, you know. [He holds up one hand, crossing his fingers and then uncrossing them to reach for the scissors.] Simpatico.
[I'm not very good at that, he almost says, before thinking better of it. This has already been . . . too much. Too much for work, certainly, but also too much in general. It's only occurring to him now that his anger is fading how much he's actually shared, the way that Doppio's forced his hand here. He doesn't want to make it worse.]
[So he just nods. Straightforward, easy: yes.]
Neither of us will take unnecessary risks.
[As far as he's concerned, it's a promise. So don't do anything stupid, old man.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[Tipping his head a bit to the side, birdlike, he considers that offering the obvious is the best path forward. It's annoying to be put in this position, but he'll cope.]
Before I got here, I was a criminal. Is this regarding something specific?
[It doesn't occur to him that it might be about that. It doesn't even occur to him that the person who brought up concerns was Doppio, simply because they've had an unspoken truce for so long at the clinic. But things have changed.]
no subject
[He pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing away a thick scrap of mouldering skin in the process.]
...Yeah. Yeah, it's...
This is a weird question, but did you ever... kill someone more than once?
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[But there's only one thing Dr. Pierce could be referring to, and only one person who could have told him.]
[There's a sudden rustle, bark against flower against leaf, like the jungle rising up to attack — but he forces the vines at his back to wrap tight around his upper arms, holding him steady. He's pale. Not with fear but with rage, and that shows clearly. This is without question the most emotion he's ever seen inside the clinic's walls.]
I see.
Yes. I did. I'm happy to give you the full story; I'm certain you don't have it yet. But if the fact that I admit it is enough to make me unsuited to continue here, I respect that. I don't want to disrupt this place. I never have.
no subject
[He can see that shift in Giorno's mood, and he has a nasty feeling that he's just dropped Doppio in it. He's been trying not to name names, but there's only so subtle he can be, really.]
[He sighs, picking up his coffee mug, although he doesn't drink from it.]
I don't want to lose you here, Giorno. You're a good kid, you work hard, you're a lot of help. So, uh... tell me what I'm missing?
cw drug trafficking/use/abuse
[He wishes he could have been a fly on the wall for that conversation. He'd love to hear it. He's trying not to think about it, trying to calm down, to condense everything he's feeling into a tiny dense package and swallow it down, because this is important. This matters. Not only for his job, or even mostly for his job, but for the truth.]
[Fingers clenched into fists on his lap, he nods sharply and begins, not looking away from Hawkeye for a second.]
The man in question was the leader of the organized crime family that led — controlled — my city. He spent decades peddling an unusually strong opiate to a city broken by poverty, systematically targeting the weakest people out there. There's no way to calculate the number of people who suffered and died because of his desire for power. To keep his workforce strong, he facilitated those with no other choice but to join his organization — including children — going through an ordeal that either left them with fantastic powers, or dead.
He wanted to be God. He wanted to be invulnerable, so much so that when he found out he had a daughter he had never met, who didn't know he existed either or anything about him, his response was to try to kill her. At fifteen. She'd never been involved with any of this. And when he couldn't kill this girl, he threw all the force of every sick mind at his disposal after her, because he couldn't stand the idea of her surviving.
One of them was a doctor, by the way, who enjoyed torturing patients. [Not Steve, not that time, but that doesn't mean he didn't think of—] He almost destroyed the entire city of Rome, for fun. This is one of the people he threw at a teenage girl for the crime of being related to him.
Before I came here, I didn't know many people who mattered to me. I could count them on one hand. He killed three of them. Two of them, he punched a hole right through. [Giorno balls up his fist and presses it against his solar plexus.] Right through. I can still smell their guts. The third one, he impaled on a fence. My job was to f— to fix them. To keep them safe. And I couldn't.
And that still wasn't good enough for him. He wanted his daughter dead, and he wanted an amount of power that I couldn't let him have. So I took it myself.
[Letting out a sharp exhale, he lays his hands out flat, palms atop his knees, jaw set. Here it is. Here's the problem.]
What I did to him, I didn't know I could do. I didn't know how to undo it after. But I'm not going to sit here and promise you that I regret it, or that I'd undo it now if I could. I don't know the answer to that. What I can tell you is that that man would do all of it again, because he was here in July and so was she, and he did. And just like the first time, Doppio helped.
cw: decomposition
[Part of it is that he needs a minute to fight down his own anger.]
[Not at Giorno. Not at Doppio, either, really. Just... God, what is wrong with people? Seoul to Chicago to Bavan to Rome. Everywhere he looks, people seem to get their lives torn apart by people who just don't care. He's really, really tired of meeting teenagers who know what death smells like.]
[The mug in his hands is shaking. He sets it down, flexing his fingers. He needs a goddamn drink.]
...Thanks. That, uh.
That fills in a few blanks. [And raises so many more questions. And brings him back to the horrible thought that now he's back to square one, not knowing who to trust.]
I don't need to know if you'd undo it. I just... [He frowns, grimacing. A thin sheen of mould is growing on the surface of the coffee, the porcelain black with decay where he gripped it.] I need to know you wouldn't do anything like it again.
Not even to the guy who killed Steve. [It's there, and he can't quite bring himself not to say it.]
no subject
[And then he . . . doesn't say anything. For a while. A few weeks ago he would have known the answer instinctively, automatically. Now he's just — so tired. The anger is burning out and he's just so tired.]
[He pokes at it carefully, like a loose tooth. If it was Fugo or Trish or Mista or Riley — here, where people don't die permanently anyway — but then what? What's the instead, for something like this, in a place like this? He still thinks Diavolo deserved it. He wishes he'd never left that place in his own mind that Gold Experience sent him.]
[But.]
[Shoulders slumping slightly, he shakes his head, unsure.]
I don't know. I don't know what else . . . what other way there is to stop someone like that. Here. I don't know how to keep them safe any other way.
[Which is the issue, really. It always has been.]
no subject
I don't know how you keep people safe, either.
[He scrubs a hand over his eyes. This is, it turns out, a bad idea in his current state, as his eyeballs have started to shrivel in their sockets, and the skin around them is like wet tissue paper. Way too easy to tear. He has to look away for a moment, to push his eye back into place, and... honestly, it's kind of a relief. It's hard to look at the kid, right now.]
I don't have any answers. And I'm sorry, Giorno, I really am. But this is a clinic. People need to be safe if they come here.
I need to know they'll be safe if they come here.
no subject
[He couldn't have done anything else for Bruno. He knows that. But everything he sees, especially right now, spells out what-ifs.]
[Still, he listens. He watches, not averting his eyes, feeling the creeping guilt crawl up his back, the knowledge that he's making something worse. After another long pause, he nods.]
. . . I wanted to work here because being here and not being able to help like I'm used to made me sick. That's — more important than anything else to me.
[Even when he's angry. Sometimes he just can't see it. But it's always under there, somewhere.]
I don't want to do it again. I want to help. That's . . . the whole point.
no subject
[But it's going to have to wait a while longer. This is more important.]
You help a lot here. You know that, right?
It can get to feel a bit hopeless, patching up the same people over and over. But it's helping. And it's been one hell of a lot easier with you around.
...I'm going to need to think about it. [And maybe drink about it.] This is... a lot. It's a lot.
no subject
[He lets the words percolate, settle, saves them to sift through later. His smile is faint, exhausted, and mostly genuine.]
Thank you. I appreciate that.
[Even if he's still trying to decide if it's true. Right now, that barely matters. He hesitates, then deliberately stretches his fingers out wide on his knees, releasing the tension.]
I understand. Whatever you need to do. But . . . I'm sorry for upsetting you. I didn't intend to.
no subject
[It seems pretty ridiculous to try, though.]
It's not...
[He wrinkles his nose, pulling a face.]
None of it's personal. I don't want this to be personal. And I'm sorry it's come up now, of all times. It's just... it's bad timing.
[Clearing his throat, he reaches over with the hand that's not over his eye, pulling a shorthand pad towards him and scribbling without looking. A prescription for himself, after a fashion.]
I'm going to talk to Doppio again. Dig into this a little bit more. Not that I don't trust you, you understand, I just need to know both sides. [I need to know whether either of you are safe working here.] I'm not going to ask you to quit. Not unless I'm sure.
...Are you sure you don't need some time off, though? With everything that's been happening. I'd totally understand if you wanted to take a break and clear your head.
no subject
If you think it's best, I'll take time off, but otherwise I'd rather not. Without something to focus on— [He stops short, rephrases:] It helps. [Not without it I'll lose my mind, that's not going to help either, even if it's true. He doesn't look in the direction of the back room, so pointedly that he makes it obvious he's trying not to.]
[There's the other thing, too. Trish is still here. She's got the deadman's switch, but the emphasis in the name isn't exactly comforting. He hesitates, uncertain how much he should say. Accusing Doppio outright of homicidal intention towards a teenager who lives with him isn't going to make this any easier to navigate, but—]
[What a mess.]
Could you— [Hm.] The girl I mentioned. Not that I expect you would, but please don't share that information. She's here, and she doesn't like to be talked about. Especially not when it comes to that.
no subject
[So he just nods, making a low sound of agreement, and rolls his chair back to dig a roll of bandages out of a cabinet nearby. After all, he can't just keep holding his eye in with his hand forever.]
I wouldn't dream of it.
Honestly, I feel bad I even let you know who came to me, but... [But there wasn't really any way to avoid it, not that he can see.] But I don't need to tell him anything he hasn't already told me. Just... push for a bit more detail, is all.
Can you give me a hand with this? Just... hold the bandage, there?
no subject
[He gets up and makes his way over to the desk, seeming immediately more at ease doing something he knows how to do well. This is what he came here for in the first place, after all. This is easy.]
[Following Hawkeye's instructions, he holds the bandage still, careful not to move when he sighs.]
It would have been impossible not to. He's the only other one who knows. [Except the man in question, and now Dr. Pierce . . . which is the other thing that's rubbing him the wrong way. It feels dangerous, somehow, that someone else has become involved — not to him but to the doctor. If Diavolo is still here, and he has reason to believe he is, then . . .]
[He hesitates. He could try to apply logic to this, but it seems futile. The man was insane before what Giorno did to him. Predicting what he'd do if he found out Doppio shared such a personal weakness feels like trying to hold back the ocean. It feels . . . inevitable, in a way, that he won't be here much longer himself, but does that mean he should say more?]
I'm not . . . going to confront him. Regardless of what happens. If you were worried about that. He's good at his job. I don't mind working with him. And I don't think he would wish to cause you harm himself. But — there's only one person he's loyal to.
[If Diavolo hadn't been here, would Doppio have gone after Trish? No. He really doesn't think so. That's what makes all of this so sickening.]
He's not his own person . . . in a way. When he's got his orders. It's more than a job. . . . Please be careful.
no subject
[But Giorno's not going to start anything. And Doppio can stay on separate shifts for the time being. It's going to be tough when the fog rolls in, when he wants all hands on deck, but it's a start.]
[He wraps the bandage quickly around his own head. Once he's got one loop around, and he can take his hand away from his eye without it falling out, it's pretty easy. As he works, he looks up at Giorno with the other eye.]
Yeah. His boss. I know. Met him a while ago.
[Or a version of him, anyway. Not that he would recognise Diavolo if he fell over him - as far as he's concerned, Doppio's "Boss" is a tall man in a fedora whose face was unclear and made Hawkeye's brain hurt to look at.]
When have you ever known me not to be careful?
...Don't answer that.
no subject
[The cognitive dissonance of feeling pity and bitter disgust for the same person ends up festering into disappointment, apparently.]
[Giorno makes a face, then quickly unmakes it, expression going fully neutral again.]
It's not that. [Although yeah, Hawkeye did answer his own question there.] You've been here longer than I have. I don't doubt you can handle yourself. It's just that I'd rather that particular person not kill anyone else I like, even if it's only temporary.
no subject
Worry about yourself, okay, Gio? I'll be careful.
no subject
[So he just nods. Straightforward, easy: yes.]
Neither of us will take unnecessary risks.
[As far as he's concerned, it's a promise. So don't do anything stupid, old man.]