Title: Connections
Summary: Connections were made and Payback was repaid. Nick whump!
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Grimm or its characters; that privilege belongs to someone else.
Author's Note: Got this idea while watching 3.03. Hope you enjoy!
Preface:
"You know, you connected there," Monroe said, pointing to his head.
Nick pointed to his and responded, "Yeah, you too."
oOo
They had made a deal. He knew it and he knew that Nick knew it. But somehow, Monroe couldn't find it in himself to fully care at the moment. Nick's tackle had only been a small surprise as the entire fight had been, essentially, staged, but once the connection had been made, the fight was on.
With every hit Nick made, Monroe returned one. The Grimm managed to keep his blows light, showing just how little muscle he was putting into them. But Monroe was too angry and, okay, maybe he did hold a little bit of a grudge against his friend for the beating he'd received while Nick had been a zombie. He made sure that every hit he landed, not only connected but hurt.
By the end of the fight, Nick wasn't trying to be gentle anymore and Monroe saw stars with one of Nick's punches. It was only fair, he supposed, since he hadn't been showing the Grimm any mercy the entire time. But his more animal side didn't register the logic; it registered the renewed threat and it answered in kind. With the new pain, he give a vicious growl and kicked Nick as hard as he could, sending the detective flying towards where Hank and the murderer stood a few feet away. He landed hard on the unforgiving ground and the more human – and less angry side – winced at the sound. That was going to hurt later on, that was for sure.
Monroe was just about to charge the pig when Nick was suddenly up in front of him, with his gun pointed at Monroe. The blutbad had to admit, the Grimm was a good actor. He almost believed the entire scenario that Nick was painting for the chef. Okay, so he knew that the Grimm didn't really want to shoot him, and they had planned it so that it would only look like he had, but the fear and pleading in his eyes looked real enough to Monroe to calm the wolf inside and bring him back to reality. Back to the plan.
He focused on putting all his anger into his speech as he talked, choosing to use the blood slowly sliding down the side of Nick's face to bring the wolf out rather than zeroing in on the guilt he could feel coming at causing the wound in the first place.
Among the multiple howls from Monroe's fellow blutbadden friends, he could hear Nick's rapid heartbeat and shallow breathing. Knowing that he must have done some damage to the detective's side when he'd kicked him, Monroe stilled the instant wince that wanted to come onto his face. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to dole out as much payback as he had. Then again, Nick could have stopped him if he'd wanted to so maybe Monroe shouldn't feel so bad after all.
You mean he could have tried to stop you, an animalistic voice echoed inside his head and bringing forth a picture of him in full woge, smiling tauntingly. It was hard not to react to the idea and the image – he was supposed to be playing dead after all – but he managed it.
Assuaging the guilt seemed the easier thing to do and so that was what he did. He waited until he could no longer hear the Dodge before he got off the ground, wincing a little as he did so. His face was beginning to ache quite a bit by now and so he thanked his friends and headed to the precinct to meet up with Nick, Hank, and Captain Renard as was planned.
He listened with barely controlled anger as the pig showed no remorse while he signed the confession. Going to jail seemed too light a punishment to Monroe but he knew that Nick was cop before he was a Grimm and so he tried to let it be enough, just like Nick had done when Angelina had escaped arrest the first time they'd met.
"You know, you connected there," Monroe said, pointing at where he now held an ice pack against his face. He, of course, ignored the way Nick was moving a bit stiffly and more gingerly just so he wouldn't have to feel the guilt that he knew would be waiting for him if he acknowledged it.
"Yeah, you did too," Nick reminded him, pointing at the cut at the corner of his eye. Thankfully it was a small one and had been attended to. Though he wouldn't come right out and admit it, Monroe still wanted to pay Nick back some more for the epic beating and so he really didn't have that great a control over his inner wolf at the moment. The smell of the Grimm's blood would be a little too tantalizing for him to resist and Monroe knew that he would be on his friend, attacking with vigor, before he could even register what he was doing.
By some silent agreement, the two agreed to call it even and didn't start pointing out all the different places that they had hurt one another – which Monroe had no doubt they would have started to do soon if they hadn't stopped. Captain Renard made a very bad pun about the common Little Piggies nursery rhyme and that was that. The case was closed and Monroe and his friends were safe.
oOo
Hank, Nick and Monroe walked out of the precinct together, being told to go home and get some rest by the Captain. Nick and Monroe were quiet as they walked and Hank stole a glance at the two friends in an effort to determine why.
The clockmaker kept glancing slyly over at Nick, his eyes tracing over the cut by Nick's eye. If Hank had to guess, he'd say that the taller man felt bad for the punishment he'd given Nick and while Hank could understand why the wesen had done it, he also believed that he should feel bad.
They'd all agreed that it hadn't been Nick's fault, whatever he'd done while under the Baron's influence. Now, granted, being able to mentally know that and emotionally believe it were two very different and difficult things. Heck, Hank had been tempted to goad Nick into the training area for a bit of payback himself, but eventually the detective had been able to let things go. Mostly.
Apparently Monroe hadn't been able to do any such thing.
Nick winced as he shifted to get out of the way of some incoming uni's and Hank instinctively reached out a hand to steady him when it looked as though he may be a bit unsure on his feet. As it turned out, he needn't have worried. Nick had been fine, if not in pain, and hadn't needed the helping hand. In fact, he winced at the contact of Hank's hand on his arm.
Tired of knowing that his friend and partner was hurt but not knowing how badly, Hank said, "You okay?" He doubted that he'd get a real answer from Nick but he figured he'd better try at least.
"Yeah," Nick answered, actually managing to make it sound like the truth. "Just been a long day."
All three of them knew that it hadn't been that long of a day compared to some they've had in the past but they all let it slide. God knows the week had been long enough. Things were just beginning to calm down after the whole Baron fiasco and people were slowly beginning to accept or forget what had happened. Hank knew that everything Nick had done, every injury he'd caused and the life he'd taken were still weighing heavily on the younger detective, but since there wasn't anything he could do for that, he left him be.
"Come on," he said, nodding his head in the direction the Dodge was parked. "I'll take you home. Maybe Juliette can make you feel better."
He hadn't meant it the way it had come out, but Monroe had snorted and Nick had let out a breathy laugh anyways. The way Nick tried not to breathe too deeply reminded Hank of when he'd been beaten up by Stark, landing him in the hospital, badly bruised. Man, if Nick was hurting that much to have Hank connecting this incident to that, he was really hurting. One look at Monroe told him that the clockmaker had made the same connection and he quickly averted his eyes to hide his embarrassment.
"You know," the taller man said before they could part, "I think Rosalee might have something that could help back at the Spice Shop."
"Thanks, Monroe," Nick said, sounding every bit as exhausted as he looked. "But I'm really just tired. I think I'll just go home."
"No, you won't," Hank argued with a scoffed laugh. He didn't actually know if the shop owner had something to help Nick but it had to be better to have Monroe and Hank there with him to make him behave rather than leaving it all up to Juliette who had been showing the strain of the past week as obviously as she had a smile.
When Nick turned to glare at him, Hank shook his head and held up his hand to stall any argument. "We both know that you will go home, tell Juliette that you're fine and go to bed and judging from the way you're walking, the bruised ribs could use some attention."
"Great. That's settled then," Monroe said a little too cheerily while not giving Nick a chance to persuade them that he was okay when he wasn't. "I'll just, you know, let Rosalee know what's goin on and meet you there."
"Okay," Hank answered, knowing that Nick wasn't going to. His partner hated being manhandled into taking care of himself and therefore he was quietly stewing in anger. Hank once again nodded to the Dodge and said, "Come on." He stepped aside, ready to herd Nick towards the vehicle if it was needed.
Recognizing defeat when it was staring him in the face, Nick did as he was told, not even bothering to argue, though he did glare quite a bit. Hank frowned at the lack of response from his friend but he didn't comment. He followed behind the other man until he was in the car and – after many winces and a couple grimaces – buckled in. Then and only then did he climb into the driver's seat and drive off towards the Spice Shop.
Nick sat silently in the passenger seat, holding himself as still as possible. His eyes were closed but Hank could tell by how tightly his friend's jaw was clenched that he wasn't asleep.
"I thought Grimms were supposed be stronger," he pointed out, hoping to distract Nick from his discomfort.
"We are," Nick responded, his breath hitching when Hank hit a bump in the road. "It doesn't help so much when we're fighting a wesen in full woge, though." His breath hitched again and then he added, "Then, we're pretty much even."
"Yeah, speaking of that, I thought you and Monroe were only going to play-fight. When did it actually turn into bruising one another?"
"Evidently Monroe is still a little upset about the beating I gave him while under the Baron's influence," Nick answered, sounding not entirely sure if that was the true case or not. His voice lost a bit of its shakiness, replacing in it a bar of steel that chilled Hank despite the warmth of the car.
Hank supposed that if he hadn't known his partner as well as he had, he wouldn't have heard the anger in his voice. He would have supposed it for something else entirely. Then again, he probably would have thought it was anger, he just would have thought it was aimed at him rather than at Nick himself. The older detective sighed.
"Stop beating yourself up for that, man," he lectured. Since this conversation had taken place precisely five times previous, however, Hank knew that his words would fall on deaf ears. He still said them anyways. "It wasn't your fault and you know it."
''Ask Juliette how it felt to be hit by you'," Nick whispered, reminding Hank what he'd thrown in Nick's face when he was going to confess for the murder. "That's what you said. And now you're telling me it wasn't my fault. One minute you're all trying to convince me that it's all okay and that it's all forgotten and then the next minute you're all reminding me in some form or another that I am, or was, a monster. Sometimes, I wish you'd all make up your minds."
Where the hell had that come from?!
Yeah, so Hank may have been a bit harsh when he'd been confronting the Grimm about turning himself in but he hadn't thought that his words would have, ever, been thrown back in his face. That was normally something that women did, not Nick. Then again, if they'd been going through Nick's head over and over again, it probably wasn't out of spite that Nick was giving them back to him; they'd more than likely hurt his friend on a deeper level than Hank could have supposed.
"Who's been telling you that you're a monster?" Hank asked, barely controlling himself in time to stop from slamming on the breaks and no doubt adding to Nick's pain. Even so, his hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles losing a bit of their color.
"Doesn't matter," Nick dismissed, this time looking out the window. It was obvious that, to him, the conversation was over. Hank thought about pressing it but he knew that now wasn't the time for it, so he didn't. Maybe Rosalee could talk some sense into him. She or Juliette usually seemed to get through when no one else could.
They pulled up alongside the curb outside the shop and Hank waited to make sure that Nick was actually going to exit before he began undoing his seatbelt and got out. Even so, he and Nick exited at the same time. The Grimm was trying to appear as though he was fine but Hank could still see the pain in his posture.
"Nick, what happened?" Rosalee greeted in surprise when she spotted the pair.
Hank looked over at Monroe who shied away a bit, looking sheepish. "I thought you were going to call her and tell her what had happened?" the detective questioned.
At this, everyone turned their attention onto the blutbad who gave a non-committal shrug.
"I may have left out a few things," he answered, stretching the word 'may'.
"I'll say," Hank said, guessing at precisely why he'd left out certain details.
While they talked, Hank and Rosalee got Nick into the back room and sat him down on the bed. Nick winced as the springs bounced him up and down but he made no sound of pain. It was starting to get on Hank's nerves, actually, the stoicism. It was so completely obvious that Nick was in pain, despite what he was pretending otherwise, and yet the man still seemed determined not to admit it.
"Okay, both of you, out," Rosalee commanded. Her gentle nature was still there but when she said something, Monroe generally went along with it as though she were a commanding officer.
Knowing that Nick was in good hands with her, Hank left the room and closed the door behind him.
oOo
Nick heard the door close and he felt it vibrate through his pounding head with surround-sound force. His eye twitched as he stifled a wince but that was all the show of pain he would allow.
He'd known from the first hard hit that Monroe wasn't sticking to the plan. He'd also known that he could have matched the blutbad force for force and given his friend the same beat-down that he was determined to give him. But he didn't. Somehow, Nick felt that he deserved the beating that he was being given and so he'd allowed Monroe to vent.
It wasn't until he'd landed in the kegs, twisting his wrist beneath his weight – though you wouldn't have known it since he'd pretended that he was fine – that he'd begun to match the blutbad's force. Even so, Monroe kept up his strength and landed one last well-aimed kick on Nick's side, sending him flying towards Hank and the chef and bruising his ribs in the process. It seemed that that was the last of Monroe's anger and he appeared to simmer down and go back to the plan after that.
From then on the night was a bit of a blur. Between convincing the chef to confess and pretending that he was absolutely fine sans the cut by his eyebrow had taken up all of his concentration and all he'd wanted to do was go home and sleep it off. He knew from experience that the bruised ribs wouldn't heal that quickly but he'd decided to take care of that in the morning.
It appeared that he wasn't going to be allowed to do that, however, as Hank practically had pushed him in the direction of the Dodge and then proceeded to inform him that he was going to go to the Spice Shop and have Rosalee take a look at him. She may not be a doctor but there wasn't any doubt between the three men that she'd have something in the shop that could help with the pain.
"Nick," Rosalee's gentle voice called, grabbing his attention.
He looked down at her – she was kneeling on the floor in front of him – and she raised her eyebrows.
"What happened?" she asked, apparently repeating herself.
"Got into a fight," Nick replied, making sure to do his best not to implicate Monroe since it was obvious the blutbad didn't want to be brought into it. That was one thing he had heard – that Monroe had left out certain details – and while he'd found it amusing, he respected the blutbad's wishes.
"How badly are you hurt?" she asked, looking a bit confused, though sympathetically so.
"I'm fine," he said, doing his best to make her believe it.
"You know, no offense Nick but I know you're lying," she said, calling him out. She gave him a smile to let him know that she wasn't upset. "So, how about you tell me how you're really feeling?" She reached out and gripped his injured wrist, making him gasp in unexpected pain. "I can already see that you've sprained your wrist, so what else is hurt?"
The idea of telling Rosalee 'what hurts' made Nick want to laugh. Since he knew that that would hurt, and a lot, he stifled the urge and settled for smiling instead, though it didn't last near as long as it normally would have.
Rosalee chuckled a little, apparently getting why he was smiling.
"Okay, I know it sounds like I'm treating you like a child, but it's the best way for me to determine how to help you."
Getting it, Nick nodded and then proceeded to stop with a wince.
"Uh, my head is pounding a little, my side is a little sore, and my knee aches a bit," he summarized, focusing on the specific parts of his body that hurt. He was surprised by the knee hurting, but he didn't spend too much time contemplating what was wrong with it.
"Okay, let's see what's wrong," Rosalee said, almost as though to herself. She reached out, hesitantly, and lifted his shirt to take a look at his side. Her wince let him know how ugly the bruise was without having to see it for himself. "Was the attacker wesen?" she asked as she began to prod the tender side.
"Ho!" Nick cried out in spite of himself. He hadn't been expecting the sudden surge of fire that had seared through his side at her touch and therefore hadn't been able to stifle his reaction to the pain. His body clenched and his torso tried to curl into the pain. Her hands stopped him before he could hurt himself more and he leaned into their chill.
"Sorry," she said, wincing a little bit in sympathy. She got off the floor and went over to one of her shelves, pulling a jar of something off as she did so. She came back and knelt back down. The sound of metal upon glass echoed through the room and seemed to reverberate through his aching head, as she unscrewed the lid and set it aside.
This time when he sucked in his breath, it wasn't from pain but from cold. The ointment that she was gently spreading across his side was cold and thick, almost sticky like honey. Her fingers were careful as she ghosted over the tender flesh, rubbing the goo in.
Once she'd finished with his side, she gingerly grabbed his arm and began adding the ointment to his wrist. Here she added a bit more pressure, making sure to get the salve spread as evenly and as thoroughly as she could. It hurt and once or twice Nick had to stop himself from snatching his arm out of her grasp, but he let her do it since this was the reason he'd come.
After she'd finished with his side and wrist, Rosalee got up and grabbed a couple compression bandages that Nick knew she kept around for when one of the boys was hurt and didn't want to – or couldn't – go to the hospital. She nimbly wrapped one around his hand and halfway up his forearm and then began to wrap the other one around his side. The throbbing in both areas quieted down exponentially once they'd been treated and Nick wondered whether it was because of the ointment or the bandages.
"Okay," Rosalee said on an exhale. "Let's see what's wrong with your knee, shall we?"
She tried pushing his pants-leg up, but she couldn't get it high enough to examine the joint and so she stopped. Without a word, she got up and went over to a drawer, pulling out what appeared to be a pair of exercise shorts before coming back.
"Here," she said, tossing Nick the clothing. "You're going to have to take off your pants in order for me to get a look at your knee. You can wear those until I'm done."
She then proceeded to turn around, giving Nick as much privacy as she could while remaining in the room so that he could change.
Eyeing the shorts warily, Nick began to do as was expected. He was stiff and sore from the fight and his head sent a merciless throb throughout his brain, ending just behind his right eye, but he managed to do it and rather swiftly. His knee was swollen and hard to bend so he'd had to work around that, his eyes quickly cataloguing the signs of a strain before he slipped the shorts on and sat back down.
Rosalee turned back around and once again knelt on the floor so that she could examine his knee.
"Did Monroe do this?" she asked as her hands wandered around the outside of the bruising.
Nick was too stunned to answer for a minute and then his breath was stolen from his lungs when she began feeling around the knee-joint itself.
"What makes you think that?" he asked, panting a little as his erratic breathing awoke the fire in his side. The cold of the ointment was back, this time being worked into his knee, and he felt himself relax a little.
"I know that you two had a plan for getting the chef to confess," she began, her eyes remaining focused solely on her task. "And I also noticed the bruises on Monroe's face which coincided with the tearing on your knuckles."
She briefly looked up to gauge his response and then looked back down, switching the jar out for another bandage.
"I thought the fight was staged," she said as she began wrapping his leg.
"It was," Nick granted, unsure of what all he should say.
"Monroe didn't stick to the script?" she asked, once again looking up. She nodded when he said nothing and got up to go wash her hands. "I was worried that he wouldn't."
At this, Nick's eyebrows rose and he found that his attention was focused on her. She smiled sadly at him as she explained.
"He's had some difficulty sweeping your fight with him, the captain, and Hank under the rug. A part of him realizes that it wasn't your fault but the rest of him feels hurt, in a way, that you didn't recognize him as a friend and stop."
Feeling his eyes begin to fill with tears, Nick looked down. So he'd been right. Monroe had wanted some payback. And he highly doubted that tonight was enough to suffice – if he was as much an animal as Hank had described him to be.
"I see," he said, clearing his throat so that he could sound a bit steadier. He blinked, allowing the tears to fall harmlessly onto the floor and then took a big breath in, willing the rest of them away. "Well, maybe when I get better, I'll let him get it out of his system."
The words were meant to be an assurance. Something to show that he wasn't angry or bothered by the honesty. Instead they came out sounding just as bitter and hurt as he felt and Nick cringed at the sound of it.
Small but strong arms wrapped around him as he found himself engulfed in a hug. She was mindful of his injuries as she slipped under his left side so that she could hold him up a little as well as not hurt him further.
Shocked though he was, Nick returned the gesture as much as he dared. He was at a loss as to explain why Rosalee was currently hugging him. After all, he'd tried to kill – apparently – her boyfriend – and his best friend – as well as his partner and boss, not to mention the backhand he'd given Juliette. Why would she feel it was necessary to give him comfort after he'd done all that?
"Nick, listen to me very carefully," she instructed as she pulled away. She kept a grip on his arms, her touch gentling when he winced at the pressure she'd put on a couple bruises there. "None of this was your fault. You are not the monster that you believe yourself to be and you are not to blame for how you acted. You were poisoned and you would have died if you'd been left untreated for too much longer."
"That doesn't negate the fact that I tried to kill Monroe, Hank and the Captain," he argued, unable to dismiss the events of the past week or so away as easily as she was. Maybe it was his stubbornness but he just wasn't able to let go.
Rosalee stepped back, offering him a little smile. "No, it doesn't," she granted. "But it doesn't automatically condemn you either."
No, everyone else seems to be doing that, his mind immediately grumbled. Even so, Nick kept his mouth shut. Having the same conversation over and over again wasn't helping anything and it wasn't changing his mind. There was no longer a need to keep having it.
"Well, thanks for the help," he said, beginning to limp towards the door. It was then that he stopped and thought about what he was wearing. He painfully pivoted and offered her a slight smile. "Any chance I could have my pants back?"
oOo
Rosalee walked back into the main part of the shop, closing the door to the back room behind her. Nick was changing out of the gym shorts and back into his pants. She had reservations about whether or not that was a good idea but she'd kept her mouth shut. It was cold out. And besides, the shorts were Monroe's and she doubted that either Nick or Monroe wanted to have Nick take them home.
Hank and Monroe sat in separate chairs, the silence between them seeming comfortable enough. Every once in a while they would look at each other and then some form of communication would pass between them but it was always silent. When they noticed her, their attentions focused on her, the question of how Nick was doing in their eyes. Their concern for their friend was heartwarming but it wasn't as though Nick was in very grave danger so she also found it a bit odd.
Leaving the two of them to stew in their own worries and minds, Rosalee went behind the bar and started organizing a few orders that she had coming in first thing in the morning.
She wasn't sure how she felt about Monroe using the staged fight to pay Nick back. On the one hand she could understand it. Like she'd told Nick, he'd been struggling to reconcile himself fully to the knowledge that it hadn't really been Nick who had tried to beat him to death. His more animalistic side wanted, needed, payback and it seemed that it got it tonight. Being the only one who hadn't been hurt by Nick, Rosalee probably wasn't a good judge. She knew from talking with her that Juliette was having troubles with letting Nick touch her. Every time he tried to get close, she would put him off, telling him that he needed rest or she would minutely flinch at his touch. It was getting better, she'd been told, but it still happened. So who was she to condemn Monroe for trying to settle things in his own way?
The door to the back room opened and Nick exited. He still moved stiffly but, thanks to the liniment that she'd applied, it had lessened by a lot. He limped - albeit barely - out into the main room and did his best to hide his injured wrist from his friends, offering them tired smiles.
"There, the doctor has seen me. Can I go home now?" he asked, practically whining. Rosalee had to stop a smile from creasing her face at the tone in his voice as it was kinda cute to hear that coming from a 30+ year old man. Evidently the only reason he'd come was because Hank and Monroe had forced him to.
"I don't know. Doc, how is he?" Hank asked, now forcing her to answer their question from earlier.
"He'll be fine," she said. Then she looked expressly at Nick, wanting to make sure that he got the upcoming message loud and clear. "Providing he takes it easy for the next week, he'll be good as new."
"Well, as much as I'd love to just sit around at home, I'm not sure I'll be able to manage that," Nick quipped, essentially pointing out that 'taking it easy' was simply not in his job description.
"Then it'll take a bit longer, but eventually, you'll be fine." She smiled, knowing that they both already knew that. "And now it's time for the Spice Shop to officially close. So if you don't mind, gentlemen, it's time for you all to go home."
"Come on, I'll drive you home," Hank said, jerking his head in the direction of the Dodge that was parked outside. "Thanks Rosalee."
"Yes, thank you," Nick added, his smile genuine.
"Anytime Nick," she answered, meaning it. She didn't like how often this group got hurt but she was happy to help.
The two left the shop with the bell on the door ringing their exit.
"So," Monroe said, a little too cheerily. "What should we do tonight?"
Rosalee cuddled up to her boyfriend. She loved the way his eyes glowed red with pleasure every time she did that. As well as the growl that bubbled in his chest as he held her close.
"Well," she said, drawing out the pleasure a little bit longer. "I figured we could close up the shop, go home, and go to bed."
"And here I thought we were actually going to do something fun," he pouted with a slight scoff. "This is punishment, isn't it?"
"What would you need punishing for?" Rosalee innocently asked as she gathered up the things she'd used for Nick and put them away. "I mean, you only beat the crap out of your best friend."
She looked over her shoulder in time to see Monroe wince. "He told you about that, huh?"
"Actually, no. I had to guess. He was very vague about what had happened to him."
"He was?" Surprise not only sounded through Monroe's voice but it also shone on his face. Had Monroe thought that Nick would seriously sell him out?
"Yeah, he was," she answered on a laugh. "I don't think he wanted to get you into trouble." She paused, debating on saying what she was going to say next and then added, "Or maybe he thought he deserved the pain."
"That's ridiculous," Monroe scoffed, throwing an arm around her shoulders and walking out onto the midnight Portland street with her.
"Is it?" she challenged, looking up at him and separating them.
"Well yeah," he answered as though it was perfectly obvious.
"Why's that?"
"Because what happened while he was a zombie wasn't his fault. He knows that."
They climbed into Monroe's VW and then started heading for their house. Rosalee was tempted to respond, taking her parting shot then and there, but she refrained. She waited until they had entered the house and had the door locked before she answered.
"I imagine it's hard for him to believe that when his closest friends are punishing him for it. One way or another."
TBC