Reece had a habit of not looking people in the eye. The first time the Command of the Constabulary raid team noticed it was back when he was a government general. Reece was young, then, merely sixteen, and the Command asked him to introduce himself to some of his Constabulary friends. It was back when the police force made to kill magicians was in its infancy, and Reece turned to the men and looked down at his hands.

"I'm Reece," he spoke, his voice as high as it was when he was ten, "It's a pleasure to meet you." And he faded into the background after that. But the Command heard things such as 'Is that your daughter?' or 'Your son really is meek, isn't he?', so he made sure to lecture his poor son on the art of speaking to elders, at least in their measly little town.

"You have to look them in the eye," The Command instructed, and Reece nodded, still looking down at his hands. Looking at his lidded eyes, the Command began to growl.

"Why are you like this!?" he screamed, his frustration expressing itself, "Why can't my son be normal!?" And Reece excused himself before leaving the room. From that moment on, Reece never called him 'father'. At first he'd called him 'General', which was nice, but even nicer was when he was promoted to the Command position of his own personal Constabulary raid team. Being called Command was the highest thing he'd ever achieved, and he couldn't deny that whenever his son called him that, it was as if he was relinquishing some kind of control to him. And that feeling was as bitter as the blood between them.

But Reece even still had that habit into adulthood. When he was twenty, and after the Command had been in his position for three years, he noticed Reece speaking to his brother. Ian sat admiring his younger brother, and Reece did not look him in the eye. In fact, Reece wouldn't look at him at all, not at his feet, not at his hands; he looked at the ceiling and his eyes were glued there until their conversation was over. And again, the Command confronted him.

"Didn't we go over this?" he asked, and Reece shrugged.

"Went over what?"

"You can't… not look at people. I-I mean you have to look them in the eye. Look at me." Reece glanced at his father, and then back to his arms, constantly covered by his black turtleneck.

"That isn't looking, bastard. Look at me. Really look at me." Reece took one hand and squeezed his right arm as hard as he could, and he looked up at his father. Their gazes remained for a moment, and Reece looked away again.

"Come on! It isn't that hard! Goddamn it I'm trying to help you!"

"I know."

"It isn't that hard. Just... look at me."

"No," was the cold response and Reece looked at his father- in the eyes this time, "I would rather be blind." And he left. He didn't bid the man farewell; he didn't offer a good 'sir' at the end of it. He just left. And the Command was infuriated.

And he discussed this with Ian.

"Your brother has serious problems," the Command said, "He hates looking at people- and I mean really looking! Haven't you noticed it?" Ian nodded.

"I did. It's not so much that... he... has problems, I think. It's that he's got a lot of... respect... for people." The Command looked at Ian's shifting eyes, his fiddling hands, and he knew he was lying.

"Stop trying to protect him. You know he doesn't give a shit about you," he spoke. Ian's face broke into a pained expression.

"Don't say that," he pleaded. The Command shook his head.

"It's not respect," he said, a sudden revelation overcoming him, "its hatred."