Gene pushes himself up and smiles at Tony, and it's like a knife straight to Tony's heart. It's one of Gene's rare, precious, truly genuine smiles, giddy and full of elation and relief, and worst of all, trust. And it's Gene, just Gene, no hint of Malicant's malice in his expression. Tony doesn't lower his hands.

He has never in his life hated himself more.

There's no way to be sure that Malicant's hold is truly broken, no way to be certain that he won't take Gene over again, and eliminate Tony, and go on to wreak destruction on the rest of the foreigners. Gene has been proven susceptible, and he's too dangerous, too difficult to subdue, to risk him falling under Malicant's influence again. Tony knows what he has to do.

Gene realizes it too, and his smile fades. Tony had thought nothing could hurt more than that smile, but he's wrong, because the calm acceptance that follows it is a thousand times worse.

Tony doesn't know what to say. He doesn't even know how much he could say: his throat is tight and his eyes are burning with unshed tears, and he thinks if he tries to speak he'll just choke on the words. What does one say, to their enemy, their friend, the person they might love and are about to kill?

All Tony can manage is his name, in an anguished whisper.

"Gene..."