It's amazing, he thinks, how quickly his anger bleeds away when he sees her face. He still wants to kill the bastard who did this to her, but he can't, the man is already dead, and he knows the second he looks at her that the only thing he should be thinking about now is Molly. Nothing else matters. Not his need to hurt someone on her behalf, not anything that he's feeling. Just her. Even the job he's supposed to be doing here is secondary, which he knows might get him a few choice words from his boss, but he doesn't care.

"Hey," he says, closing the door and then crossing the room to her. Both his hands lift to her face without thinking and rather than tilt her chin to get a better look at her bruises -- he doesn't need to see them any better and he doesn't want her to feel like he's just here for information -- he just strokes his thumbs gently against her cheeks. "One of the guys said you were askin' for me."

He wishes he would have known sooner. He would have come in a second.