He snorts, though it's completely devoid of humor. No, Spencer doesn't seem like he's the fighting type, or ever was. Whereas Frank looks like he was made for war, all hard edges and brute force. "The beginning was the Marines." That's always been the beginning. He can pretend to be obtuse all he wants, but at least some things are still simple. "And I fucking loved--being a Marine." Nothing else compared to that brotherhood. To serving his country putting his inherent darkness to good use at last. The Marines offered him a safe harbor where he could be completely himself. He's never had that anywhere else, except maybe with Micro. When they were putting down the very people he thought he could trust.
Now that seems like they're getting somewhere. Spencer makes a quiet, listening noise to encourage him, eye contact cutting in and out so he doesn't seem too intent, using his mostly-empty coffee mug as an excuse.
"So what happened?" he asks, a simple leading statement. Letting him take that anywhere he wants.
Frank's expression resembles that of a puppy whose worn himself down after a long day of playing. He looks about to crash any second and his voice sounds just as tired. "You know what happened. Everyone does." He shakes his head, leaning over the table again but this time like he might need it to catch his fall, arms still wrapped tightly around himself. "I was a weapon for the kind of dickbag I was supposed to be going after. How do you think that feels?" A hiss, fuck. Spencer's going to ask him how that feels now, isn't he?
Actually... Reid takes the question literally. It's a good listening tactic, anyway, to check his understanding and his interpretation. It shows that he's paying attention, and wants to be corrected-- which he does.
"Awful," he says bluntly. "Dehumanizing. And I would guess..." More thoughtfully, as he turns it over, "Like a crisis of faith? If being in the Marines grounded you, losing that would be a betrayal." Spencer can liken it to the sense of abandonment he still carries from his father leaving. Something you thought you could depend on to support you, that you knew where you stood, suddenly gone.
He isn't sure if it's better or worse, that Reid can read him like a book. On the one hand, it's sweet validation to have the words come from someone else's lips. On the other... it feels like crap. Frank unbinds his arms to scrub a hand over his face. This is not anything like how he thought this would be, or how he thought it would feel to rehash.
"I killed a man in cold blood because my commander told me he was colluding with Al Quaida. He wasn't. He was just a dad, a business owner, trying to make his way like any-fucking-one else. This-this guy. Agent Orange, that's the only thing we knew to call him. Fucking piece of work from the minute I laid eyes on him. He said to all of us, he said we were the gun. The means to his end. He said, 'I point, you shoot.' And then he laughed." Frank swallows back his disgust, still hunched over the table, it's too hard to look at Spencer for this. "You're right, okay? You're right. I never thought the Marines could steer me wrong. Even when I felt-- even when I knew it didn't feel right, that didn't matter. All my trust was already with the unit. We were family."
He winces perceptibly. Reid is a very compassionate person, but he's not very graceful, physically or with other peoples' feelings.
"I'm sorry," he says somberly, with complete sincerity. "I don't have to agree with what you've done to understand why you did it. Degraded faith in the system and authority that was supposed to protect you -- having it objectify you into a weapon -- not to mention, unit cohesion is an intense experience, and the dissolution of it would be destabilizing. Anyone would find their breaking point."
All he can really offer in the face of that is validation. There's no trite reassurances to give, no real comfort possible, and it's not really Reid's place, besides. It's odd to be profiling someone he's talking to directly, but exhilarating and sobering in its own way. Usually Reid is too scared for his life when he's in this position to approach it genuinely. There's been a few exceptions, but never anyone it wasn't his active responsibility to bring in. He's getting what he wants out of the interview, but he hopes, and has hoped since he suggested it, that Frank would get something as well, that he wouldn't just drag him down painful memory lane for his own edification. That seems a hollow justification to Reid.
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?
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"So what happened?" he asks, a simple leading statement. Letting him take that anywhere he wants.
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"Awful," he says bluntly. "Dehumanizing. And I would guess..." More thoughtfully, as he turns it over, "Like a crisis of faith? If being in the Marines grounded you, losing that would be a betrayal." Spencer can liken it to the sense of abandonment he still carries from his father leaving. Something you thought you could depend on to support you, that you knew where you stood, suddenly gone.
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"I killed a man in cold blood because my commander told me he was colluding with Al Quaida. He wasn't. He was just a dad, a business owner, trying to make his way like any-fucking-one else. This-this guy. Agent Orange, that's the only thing we knew to call him. Fucking piece of work from the minute I laid eyes on him. He said to all of us, he said we were the gun. The means to his end. He said, 'I point, you shoot.' And then he laughed." Frank swallows back his disgust, still hunched over the table, it's too hard to look at Spencer for this. "You're right, okay? You're right. I never thought the Marines could steer me wrong. Even when I felt-- even when I knew it didn't feel right, that didn't matter. All my trust was already with the unit. We were family."
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"I'm sorry," he says somberly, with complete sincerity. "I don't have to agree with what you've done to understand why you did it. Degraded faith in the system and authority that was supposed to protect you -- having it objectify you into a weapon -- not to mention, unit cohesion is an intense experience, and the dissolution of it would be destabilizing. Anyone would find their breaking point."
All he can really offer in the face of that is validation. There's no trite reassurances to give, no real comfort possible, and it's not really Reid's place, besides. It's odd to be profiling someone he's talking to directly, but exhilarating and sobering in its own way. Usually Reid is too scared for his life when he's in this position to approach it genuinely. There's been a few exceptions, but never anyone it wasn't his active responsibility to bring in. He's getting what he wants out of the interview, but he hopes, and has hoped since he suggested it, that Frank would get something as well, that he wouldn't just drag him down painful memory lane for his own edification. That seems a hollow justification to Reid.
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"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?