[He should stay calm. He should be composed, and think through this. But no one ever said Reinhardt was good at thinking through when his emotions are in the way. In those cases, it's passion before logic.]

[In this case, it's heart before head. And all his heart wants to do is let itself be angry.]

[Especially when he gets what feels like an order. A harsh one, at that. Reinhardt almost visibly bristles, big shoulders squaring up. Shaking his head once, sharply.]

You do not give me orders any longer.

[Then he can't help it. Then all the hurt and all the grief comes shoving back to the forefront and he slams a fist into the door frame. How is he supposed to understand? Jack won't. Or can't.]

Did you really think I would understand when you assumed I would want to be looked after? I never wanted protection, Jack.

If I had wanted that, I would not be who I am.

[Given what they've been through together... he'd thought the other man would know him well enough to know that, if nothing else. Maybe that's why it stings so much.]