[He's reminded suddenly, of his own body, broken and bleeding on the floor of the church. He's reminded of the horror on Adam's face and of how it had almost ruined everything. He's reminded of his own anger, his frustration, and the deep-buried pain of creating another being whose sole purpose was to die.

He'd taken care of it then, after Adam had left. There were long moments with his head in his hands before he could bring himself to face it, and he'd dragged the body outside, he'd returned with all the napkins he could find in his car to clean up the blood and the gore, and he'd shoved his own body in the trunk and spent the next three hours burying it.

Ronan doesn't want Adam to have to face that. Not now, not ever. He lets his face be turned away from it, though part of him still wants to look, as if he has to keep reminding himself that it's real, that Adam's corpse is just a few feet away from him, even if Adam himself is in front of him.]

Like hell you will.

[His tone lacks its usual acidity, even though Ronan is puffing himself up, putting on airs of being able to handle this, being in control- being an asshole, because that's second nature to him to.]

Just- take the gun. [Ronan reaches over, loosely (and dangerously, but he doesn't seem to care) catching it in his fingers, before offering the grip of it to Adam.] Go finish your stuff here.

[He trusts him. He trusts him. He trusts him. It's hammering through Ronan's head, that trust, even through the doubt, even through everything else- Adam thought this was necessary, that's it, that's all that needs to be known- he trusts him, and so Ronan lets out a wry smile that he's not really feeling.]

I'm pretty fuckin' good at digging graves by now.