The flinch was foreign. Frank didn't think he'd seen Billy flinch before in their lives together. Shut down, shut off, get jittery--all of that. But that flinch was a visceral thing, a shot to the gut. Billy didn't pull away, but Frank could see some process happening that he couldn't understand.

You did this, a terrible, nasty voice in his head told him, and repeated, consuming him.

Everything in him wanted to grip at Billy, ground him, turn off that terrible expression of confusion and fear. Frank did this. He put that there. He knew his capabilities, but--he remembered Billy's soft expression in the bunker, his concern and trust even as he faced Frank's anger. Had he really slipped so far? He'd wanted to kill Billy, maybe. In that moment. He thought he could do it, though it would destroy him. This was much, much worse.

"It's me, Bill." The noise of the bar was suddenly too much. Frank couldn't do this here.