[ It doesn’t slip his notice when she bars him from stepping through the door. The thought flickers in his mind that he could just move past her. Step through the wall, if he really wanted, or even step through her, though he knows she would hate that. He could simply think and reappear at Teddy’s elbow, shove him away before he caused any more damage.

He doesn’t, though he’s sorely tempted. His temper has always been easily lit, and apparently well-meaning, love-struck, bumbling young men are able to incite his temper into an inferno.

The door slams shut, and his arms cross tightly over his chest. If he still had his guns, his hands would’ve twitched toward them, angry as he is. ]

Don’t matter whether he can see me or not. Wouldn't effect my efficiency none.

[ Still with that low, flinty edge in his voice, gaze fixed on the door, as if he could see straight through it and fling daggers with the sort of precision Billy Rocks would have envied. He grits his teeth, eyes still blazing. ]

He shouldn’t’a talked to you like that.

[ Which makes it clear that despite his warning look, he absolutely is thinking about it. Trailing after the heartbroken man and making the rest of his day a living hell. He’s angry – for Emma, certainly, and for other causes he can’t pin – and it licks inside his chest, threatens to spill out. ]