There's been a few times when Cesar missed having a working voice more than anything else. Being able to express pain, pleasure, even just something as mundane as ordering food--this time ranks pretty high there, though. He shifts the bat in his grip to brace it with his elbow, freeing one hand.

The hand produces a folded up piece of paper that he shakes open. There's already writing on it, in bold permanent marker. It's held up close enough that it probably fills Tony's vision, blotting out the rest of the room.

If you ever go near L again,
you won't walk away.

I'm watching.