Rico's eyes - both pairs of them - flick up to see Reggatta's failing lights at the same time. Their mouths pull back into a thin frown - an uncharacteristic look on them.

It’s pitiful. Vulnerable. Weak. Then the other Rico takes a step forward towards Reggatta, gloved hand coming up to land heavy on his shoulder. He looks at him, really looks, mentally disassembling him to his component parts, absent-mindedly (but not really) tracing a circle in the metal - as if committing this moment to memory.

Rico is capable of filling any room he walks in with his sheer presence. What would be a frightening single-minded focus pressing down on a suspect's shoulders, becomes a blanketing, overbearing weight of attention. He would be the only one to remember him as he was, in this exact way.

“I know,” he states simply, ignoring Rico’s glance behind him. “I understand. Why you’re doing this. This means something.”

There’s a lot of sentiment behind that statement he can’t even begin to unpack. Consequences, too. But screw it, the other Rico could figure it out.

You win like this. You matter.

With his approval given, and without looking away, Rico nods and steps back. And salutes.

“I’ll be seeing you soon,” he adds, with an amused smile.