He looks away for the apology, but his gaze snaps back to Reid after that, working his jaw like he has a lot to say but not the will to say them. It's his turn to fidget, lacing his hands in front of him but twiddling his fingers restlessly -- the caffeine couldn't have helped. "Breaking point, yeah..." It's soft, almost meditative. "No, actually, my breaking point was finding out that my brother. Uncle to my fucking kids-- was in cahoots with that bastard, just to get a cut. It didn't matter that everything I had was in the line of fire." Literally. The vitriol that spews with his words is palpable, his hatred for Billy Russo complete. And yet he is still alive, unlike all of Frank's other targets. Albeit, with injuries so severe it will leave him disfigured for the rest of his life.

"You're sorry, hell. I'm sorry too! We can all be sorry. It doesn't bring them back." Nothing brings them back. Every night, he fails to save them one more time. Every night, he sees them get lost all over again. And slowly, taking root is a new fear. That the new family he'd pledged himself to-- the Liebermans. They're in danger too. Anyone who touches him is doomed to meet the same fate. Maybe even Spencer Reid. "I never had anything else. I had my family and I had the Marines." Which was also his family, and maybe even more important in a lot of ways. He shakes his head, there's nothing really left for him on this planet, and yet he goes on, just like Bill had said. Everyone else stays down but Frank Castle gets back up. Sometimes he really can't help but wonder why. Why does he bother opening his eyes every morning, if he has nothing left to live for?