Paltry as shit is right, and yet the set of his brows wavers, although not in sympathy so much as uncomfortable recognition. She's not dead, like every living soul aboard this ship isn't dead, because he only wired the stasis pods full of explosives, he didn't blow them all to kingdom come — because someone stopped him.

(He flipped a switch in Philadelphia and killed more than a hundred people he'd never even met, and Anderson tells him he's not a monster because he was the weapon aimed and not the one aiming, but right now that feels like exactly as much bullshit.)

"Would that be easier for you?" Revenge. He's thought of it. How much clearer it would be for the families of all the people he's hurt to exact their own retribution, to give him closure instead of this aimless mess, as if they owe him anything half so fulfilling--

"No." That's not what he wants. He reigns his focus in, shaking his head. This isn't about him. Mitchell writhes, and that metal hand holds firm. These struggles are what he's after, testing the limits of the vampire's self-control, and the stubbornness of the soldier's resolve right burns back at him — but he's struck, too, by the fact that he hasn't lost control already. That half that anger is self-directed.

"I want to be clear," he says finally, tightening his grip again to avoid interruption. To make sure Mitchell's listening. "Kate's a good person. You hurt her, she'll make you sorry you were ever born, sure, but she'll hand you over to proper authorities after, 'cause she's a goddamn hero." His chin lifts to level his gaze at Mitchell. "I'm not."

So don't fuck up.

"Nod if you understand." Because he's not letting up on the choke-hold just yet.

If Mitchell does, though, he lets go. Last test.