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He stared him down, superficially impassive, internally shaken, hating himself, hating Leslie for making him do this, hating every second that Leslie's hands touched his. With one hand he reached up to slide his cigarettes out of his pocket, and without letting go he removed one from the pack.

"Stop," he repeated, and he let him go, and offered him the cigarette. "Did you find the weed or should I offer you that too?" Because he seriously, seriously needed to chill the ******** out.

When Leslie didn't take the cigarette Taym put the pack on the floor between them, a wordless peace offering, and stuck it into his lips instead. He didn't light it. Instead he felt out, gingerly, first his jaw and then his ribs, flinching as he settled back onto the floor.

"Son of a b***h," he informed him, matter-of-factly. And then, without an ounce of sarcasm: "Feel better?"

He was a hateful, probably-stupid, obnoxious, violent little s**t that Taym desperately wanted to scrape off the floor and throw out the window. He lit his cigarette too, as soon as Leslie's hands were occupied, and absently shook out his aching fingers with the exhale.

He was a hateful little s**t and Taym, as he often did with small, rebellious and broken things, felt compelled to take care of him. There was no real threat in him. He lacked the ability to intimidate, even if Taym's face and sides were aching. Unthinkingly he touched his fingertips again to his ribs through his coat.

"Good. Everyone's got something. Lots of outlets for violence around here, if that's the thing that helps. Might want to look into the Sun training course." He absently scrubbed the back of his hand over his nose, and winced. "Keep you from getting bored, too," he added drily.

He couldn't avoid the sudden exhausted, wry expression that crossed his face, much as he tried to.

"Not a mindset you can keep up for very long," he promised him, "as much as I ******** sympathize." Hadn't he been dodging golem duty for months, finding convenient excuses not to go undercover? "Good to stay busy here. And if you don't, they'll find out, and you'll wish you had. It's on you, but friendly advice. Again," he stressed tiredly. "Good to have a routine. Good to have a schedule. Keeps you from going so far off your rocker you end up like Rep who also, I might add, seems to think he's too good for menial labor." A pause, while he distractedly twisted the plain steel ring around his finger. He was lecturing now, but in a distant, exhausted kind of way, his eyes roaming the walls. All such lectures were by nature condescending, but he struggled to keep it out of his voice. "Good for figuring out how your weapon works with you, too. I avoided the ******** out of that," he said, moved to honesty for reasons he couldn't exactly pinpoint, "and I suffered for it. It creeped me out. Dead animal living in my head," he said, gesturing with his cigarette at said head, "unsettling as ********. Stupid of me to put it off. Don't make my ******** mistakes."

The tolerant irritation disappeared almost instantly, replaced by utter seriousness.

"s**t," he informed him, jabbing the cigarette in his direction, "does in fact ********' happen when someone isn't watching the ocean for four goddamned hours. Slack off on your own time, but don't slack off on a goddamned watch."

He relaxed back, leaning gingerly against the bed and exhaling at the ceiling. He was yet again curious about the conversations happening in other people's heads, and relieved that so few happened in his. He had no qualms with Leslie's choice of pronoun nor, in fact, with the name comment. Weapons were strange, strange things. "Don't think it's going to earn it on its ******** own," he said. "It's not like it can summon itself and go knock s**t around while you're slacking off wherever it is you slack off."

"You ought to be doing this s**t because that is what you signed up to do and I don't have any respect for an a*****e who can't keep his promises," he said, as though Taym's respect had ever meant anything to anyone, "and because I'm not being paranoid, I'm being ********' realistic. We have house-sized monsters crawling out of the ******** ocean on a daily basis, where the hell have you been?"

He creakily made his way to his feet, trying to dismiss the sudden awareness of how uncooperative his body felt, of Fiona's worrying assessments under the surface, an invisible orderly wrapping an arm under his shoulders. After Leslie left, maybe he'd eat. "I'm going to give you the weed as a ******** of goodwill, because the idea of you skulking around glaring at me and trying to start fights you're going to lose because you decided to break into my room and steal my s**t is more than I can add to my plate right now. And I am going to ******** request that you take up more watches. But we've already established that I don't think you're good for a promise."

He bent to run his fingers along the underside of the bed's footboard. Cheap, hollow, MDF. Some of the rooms had salvaged antique bedsteads, he'd seen them, but he'd ended up with a blue light special and so much the better. It was predictable to hide s**t in the mattress. Inside the bed bought time and now he'd need to find a new spot.

"Don't ******** think that the next guy you decide to rip off and leave with a broken lock is going to send you off with advice and a dimebag," he recommended grimly, as he extracted the same tin Rep had traded him off. "They won't stop where I did. You're surrounded by violent people and ******** psychopaths and you got lucky and you picked someone sane. This is strike two for you and there won't be a strike three." He tossed it at him. "You want to be stronger? Gotta earn it. I've already given it to you; I can't stop you if you blow it off. But I'm going to ask. Not you--people who won't lie to me. What's your brand, Miller," he added, pointing at the cigarettes. "Parliaments?"

Well, that too was a thing Taym could sympathize with.

"You might not have leave for a bit. I'll pick you up smokes next time I'm out provided," and he stressed the word, "you don't give me a reason to break your ******** teeth instead. Another one, I mean. You're going to fix my lock, too, and you're going to pick up a couple of watches and if you don't find someone willing to push you around the training fields for a while I will. Find someone. Not me. Don't call me," he finished grimly, pointing at the door. "I'll call you." And it was obvious that he meant it.