"I could say both of those things about your drinking," Glacius huffs, but most of his frustration seems to be turning itself inward now as he clenches his fists. His hands might not hurt anymore thanks to Carlisle's healing, but the tightening of the muscles up to his wrists still causes the injuries there to ache in protest. "Anyways, it's... not like I enjoy it, either. But I--I don't know what else to do to relieve this... this bitterness, this hurt, this loss. There's nothing I can do about it, Carlisle. They're gone and I have to live with that. Feeling as though I had no one else to turn to, I thought... maybe I could vent it through combat, pushing my body to exhaustion so that the only pain I could focus on was from the injuries I accrued."

Unfortunately it didn't work and he knows that, if the helpless turmoil bubbling just underneath his icy exterior is any indication. Even now the clergyman can probably feel the alien fighting to keep the worst of those grief-filled tremors tamped down, not wanting to end up breaking down like he did the last time he lost someone so dear to him.