The mission was a success. But success comes at a cost, something Six had learned a long time ago. A rainbow only appears after rain, all the glitters is not gold... and whatever other crap he can think of. It doesn't matter. He's trying to occupy his mind because if he thinks too long about what happened tonight, he fears he will blow a casket. The target is dead- he made sure of it- but it's taking every ounce of his being not to go back and curb stomp that fucker's corpse until it's a gory mess. He would have, had he not been tending to you.

It was a simple mission. A Russian mobster had been stirring up trouble and intel suspected he'd be bringing his reign of terror to the United States, if something wasn't done. Naturally, you and Six were assigned to take him out, given the man's violent tendencies and sheer manpower. It was nothing the two of you couldn't handle. Your job was simple; seduce and distract while Six took a shot from his hiding space across the street. It had been so simple... until his sniper rifle jammed.

Half an hour. That was how long you spent in that man's clutches while Six tried to find an alternative; a way to get to you, a way to fix his rifle, a way to get you out of this mess he created. And he was forced to sit there and watch for half an hour while that monster touched you. And the way you looked when he wasn't watching, the look in your eyes. The way you tried to remain the stoic person he knew you for. The way you cracked.

Hours later, you're laying in the bath while he washes your hair. Any other person, any other time, he wouldn't be caught dead. But God, when he had caught you in the shower rubbing your skin raw, he knew he couldn't stand by and watch. The safe house bathroom was small, but he didn't mind crouching down next to the tub to help you. He's kneel on a bed of nails for you, though he's never admit it.

"Tilt your head back," He murmurs, his voice low and gravelly. He doesn't know how to help you.