"You're turning sentimental," you say, trying to avoid a serious conversation. Ortega's angling for something, and you're not sure what. "Getting old?"
"Still glad," he says with a wink. "Not going to be able to insult your way out of that."
"If you want to, I can try harder."
"Not sure my dignity could survive that; it's taken enough hits as it is."
"Sounds like you need a vacation." Ortega needs to get out of here. Retire. Before he gets hurt again.
"I wish I had the time. Too many things I need to do first."
"Still trying to save the world all on your lonesome?"
"Saving the world is a bit above my pay grade." Ortega shrugs; is he being humble? Doesn't sound like him. "I'll settle for saving people."
You look away. "You've always had too many vendettas."
"Right now, I only have one."
"Really?" You raise a questioning eyebrow, looking back at him with a smirk.
"Well, two," he admits, rubbing his neck. "Hollow Ground and—"
"Garrett Helton X," you fill in, holding his gaze.
"Yes." Ortega sighs, shoulders slumping slightly. "I need to…"
"You need to be careful." Your voice goes soft as you try to read his expression. Does he look nervous? "Garrett Helton X is dangerous."
"I know," he admits with a strained smile, "but I don't have a choice. They need to be stopped."
"Shouldn't you be worrying about yourself?" It's not nice to taunt, but you were the one who hurt him, so by definition, you are not nice. The bruises may have faded, but he still doesn't move right. He probably left the sling at home for vanity's sake, but you bet he's regretting it now with the way he's shoved his hand in his pocket to take some of the weight off.
"You know I never do." There's a smile on his face, but you can see that the barb stung. "Want to give me a hand like the old days?"
"Be patient," you say, giving him a companionable grin. "You'll heal eventually."
"I'm working on it." Ortega looks grim.