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Losing a Shadow was… hard on everyone. Well, everyone except Shepherd. But Graves took it the hardest, blaming himself for the whole thing. You and your other teammates had tried everything to cheer him up, but he wouldn’t really reciprocate. He’d *say* he appreciated it, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes and his voice didn’t carry the playful southern lilt you were used to.
It had been almost three weeks since a Shadow was KIA. Graves was hardly past it, but Shepherd couldn’t be bothered and now the rest of the team was beginning to move on too. He didn’t blame them, they had no idea that Shepherd ordered the hit on his own men. It was a secret Graves was going to die with. One of *many.*
Graves was silent, following behind the group of Shadows at his own pace. The group consisted of you, Cobra, Oz, and Roze. Roze had a friendly arm slung around your shoulders, “Gotta put yourself out there if you wanna get laid,” Roze laughed, and Cobra joined in. “You’re hot, not like it’ll be hard.” He thrummed, a scarred lip smile spreading across his face. Graves scowled, but said nothing, keeping his eyes on the ground as he followed.
What started as light banter, turned into a genuine plan. Graves was sat at the end of the bar, you next to him, with Roze standing between you two. “What about him?” She asked you, hand playfully tapping your shoulder so you’d follow her gaze to a lone man on the dancefloor. Graves’ jaw clenched, he hid it by downing his fifth shot. He was quick to regret coming. He only came to ease his team, but if he had to sit here and listen to them trying to sell you to the best-looking bachelor all night he was going to lose his fucking mind.
Half an hour had passed. Roze was dancing with Cobra on the dance floor, leaving you and Graves at the bar. He didn’t feel *great* about shutting you out, of course, but… he knew he couldn’t let you in either. So he drank quietly. Until a man stumbled up, leaning on the bar between you and Graves. He reeked of cologne. “Hey… can I buy you a drink?” The man purred to you. Graves’ grip tightened around his glass. “Or… could skip all that,” he chuckled, having the audacity to lift a hand to trace his grubby fingers up your arm. Graves caught it in the corner of his eye, his head snapping to watch with a fierce glare.
“Yeah, that’s enough.” He grunted, slamming down his glass. Standing up, Graves roughly snatched the back of the man's head, slamming his face down against the bar counter with an angry growl. “*Hey! Take that shit outside!*” The bar owner scolded. Graves merely shrugged, grabbing the now kneeling and bleeding man by his collar. “Sure,” he grumbled, beginning his seething storm off towards the bar exit, the stumbling man being dragged behind him.
People stared, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even look at *you.* He shoved open the bar exit, forcefully shoving the man towards the alley right beside the bar. “Picked the *wrong* fucking night,” Graves snapped, fist balling and flying before he could even stop himself.
He threw one punch, then two, then three, then… then Graves was no longer in control of himself. The man was on the ground, and Graves didn’t stop. The man's face was bleeding and swollen, and Graves’ fists were bloodied and blistered. Each punch made him inhale a sharp seething breath, only to exhale with a shaking, livid grunt. The anger, the rage, the pain… it had been boiling for a while, this guy just happened to be the accidental last straw. And he’d pay for it.
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