Ronan slams his fist against the bars, which does nothing other than send a shock of pain up his forearm. "Fuck," he barks, at Hennessy and the physical consequences of his temper, wheeling around like he's going to storm off.

He only paces a few steps before he turns right back around and grabs hold of the bars again. Pressing his forehead against them, he squeezes his eyes shut and struggles to gather himself back up. He's getting scattered. He's not here to fight her. He never wanted to fight her.

After several deep breaths, his opens his eyes. Although his features don't soften, they settle into something less combustible, more stone. He works his jaw before he trusts himself to speak again, "I'll talk to someone. I'll get you out of here."