So we sat there at the little bar in the corner of the rec room at base. He sipped his wine and I had a root beer. (He didn't drink much because he was worried about calls coming in; I didn't drink at all after I got a bit tipsy and accidentally knocked down our first base.)
"It hurts," he finally said. I listened, letting him get it out at his own pace.
"Today, two of the Baron's goons got the drop on me. They had their guns pointed right at me. If they had thought that I was any kind of menace, they would have shot me instantly. Instead, they just laughed. That gave Fortress enough time to clobber them."
He paused again, and drank the last of his wine. "I get no respect, and today it saved my life. But it still hurts."