Luther just looks... exasperated, unimpressed at the sheer waste of time, and that in itself is probably the most infuriating thing for Diego. How completely unaffected Luther is by the shove, how it glances off him like a gnat nipping at a mountain.

"The more you yap about it, Diego, the more time we're wasting time where you could be doing something useful and helping me save the day," he says, the irritation rising in his own voice — and for a moment, despite all his best efforts, old instinct rears its head and Luther's voice sounds like a pitch-perfect reproduction of Reginald's tone, all withering scorn. He'd been taught to copy it, to echo it. That voice and all its criticism had burrowed its way deep under his super-durable skin like it had the rest of them, taking up residence where blades and bullets couldn't.