For a while, it was like the silence never existed.

Tony watches the two talk about dogs and wash the dishes together. He smiles, downing his third cup of soda.

The blushing boy talks like there's no tomorrow. He tries not to overdo it but his hands gesticulate like it's so natural of him. Giselle politely keeps the conversation going, hands twitching every now and then.

Inch by inch the gap between their hands seems to close.

The reluctance on their part made it seem almost impossible to even consider that possibility.

Pathetic honestly. Tony rolls his eyes.

He asks himself when things started to get so complicated between Giselle and Mac. He glares after his nth cup of soda and Mac just glares back quickly in response.

He rolls his eyes again.

Had it not been for the bloodstains on the wooden floor and various broken things in the living room, they almost seemed like normal people.

Almost.

He grits his teeth. He gets hot flashes past his eyes of the blow to the back of his head and how close to death it felt taunting Vasquez like that.

Tony's ears thrum a little like the tumult of the sea. His heart pounds in time with the rush of waves.

He knows Giselle sees it. She'll probably try to comfort him later but knows he needs space now so she babbles with a flustered Mac.

It's difficult holding it in, isn't it? The shaking.

He sighs and holds his cup a little more loosely. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Deep...

His eyes are trained on the bubbles and watch them float the other surface of his clear cup. It's calming amid the rush of things.

Suddenly, Giselle stands up. She doesn't look at Tony but he can feel her sympathy.

"I'll write the report for Chuck." She says, voice a little more serious. She ties her mask back onto her face after putting her hair in a neat bun. "They're probably wondering how we managed to get back in one piece."

She turns to leave and Mac stands up after her. "Do you need any help?"

"I'm good." Giselle smiles, mask making her voice a little more robotic.

"M'kay." Mac says to a shut door and then slumps back into the chair. Tony takes a long sip.

"Bagal mo kasi." Tony mumbles. "Ayan tuloy. Torpe ka na ulit."

"Fuck off, Kiko."

"Uhuh." He hears the roaring in his ears get louder. His hand shakes a little.

Mac stands up after a long sigh. Dusting himself off and not bothering to check the stains on his shirt nor the way his pants crease weirdly. He stretches, still hobbling a little where he got shot in the foot.

"Yo, I'm gonna go down for some drinks." He says as he puts on a jacket over his black shirt. "Want anything?"

"Not feeling beer right now so go ahead." Tony mumbles and watches Mac leave with a hum in his stride. He hears the door shut and slowly make his way to the room. No use running or he'll worry the whole house.

Carefully, he shuts the door and peels off his clothes. He can feel himself shaking like thin ice over a warm breeze. He grits his teeth again as he walks himself to the shower inside his room.

His body feels like shit as it is, aching and sore in some places. But the added weight and trembling makes it feel much worse if not numb.

Tony turns the shower on at its coldest and bangs onto the cold tile wall. Let go.

His eyes blur as he lets the tears fall. His lips are trembling and he fights the urge to scream by banging on the wall with his fists until the urge passes.

Breathe.

He opens his eyes under the steady stream of cold water and realize his nose clogged. He sighs impatiently and fishes for the soap to finish cleaning himself.

Tony wipes his face, lips trembling less and peeks at himself in the mirror. Bruises cover the expanse of his chest as well as a few skin aberrations that have been treated. The worst part was the puffy eyes and the still loud tumultuous ringing in his ears.

He leaves the bathroom and walks to his night stand for his box of pills and pops one into his mouth before swallowing dry.

He puts on a big shirt and shorts and flops onto the bed curled into himself.

The ringing dies into a vague thrum and carries him off to sleep.

The next day is a little better.

There is no storm beneath his eyelids when he wakes up and he feels a little brighter. Tony checks the time and it's a little past eight in the morning. Probably nobody's awake, he thinks to himself.

Even Giselle would have slept right after the report. Collapsed onto the futon and crumpled under Mac would have gone home by now, smelling of liquor and ash from passing the local smocket.

So Tony might be the only one awake.

He stretches and puts on his glasses to head out the door. Maybe making breakfast will clear his mind.

He walks out the door to hear movement in the living room.That can't be right.

He finds the rug folded in one area like someone almost tripped on it and some of the stuff on the pantry moved.

The most damning piece of evidence though would be that there is a spiky haired boy on their couch sitting pretty and surveying the whole house.

Before Tony could say anything, their eyes locked.