"It's been a century, so correct me if I fuck this up, but I seem to remember taking you out here, roughing you up a little, and gettin' a little too friendly with your scars."
Shrug.
"That. All of that is what I'm sorry for."
There's another memory trying to surface and not quite getting there.
"Don't bother thanking me. We both know you don't mean it. You've got no reason to; I fucked you over good, and apologies don't change that."
He shrugs.
"And don't expect me to be so helpful next time we meet, either. There's more versions of me running around this damn bar than you can shake a stick at, and I'm the only one who cares this much."
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Shrug.
"That. All of that is what I'm sorry for."
There's another memory trying to surface and not quite getting there.
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He rubs his face, turning away.
"Yeah. That too."
Not a word about how much worse it could've gone, because Will really doesn't need to hear it.
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He'd suggest that Chainsaw tell her himself, but the idea of this son of a bitch anywhere near Molly again terrifies Will.
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"I'm not sure you should bother. I doubt she wants to hear another word about me, even that one."
For all the wry humour, there's real contrition in his voice, real pain.
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He flexes his fingers again, winces.
"Thanks for the help, and thanks for the apology."
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"Don't bother thanking me. We both know you don't mean it. You've got no reason to; I fucked you over good, and apologies don't change that."
He shrugs.
"And don't expect me to be so helpful next time we meet, either. There's more versions of me running around this damn bar than you can shake a stick at, and I'm the only one who cares this much."
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"Good."
Chainsaw inhales, sighs, and turns away again. This time he starts walking.
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