There are many reasons why Rodeo is pissed off, but none of them have anything to do with Sarge's worthiness. It ain't that he thinks Sarge isn't good enough, ain't even that he thinks he'll hurt or mistreat his sister. There's no one he trusts more with his sister, not a soul on this earth that he believes would sacrifice for her and protect her as completely and tirelessly as he would. It's not about that. It's the feeling of rejection and betrayal that has him out of his mind with desperate rage. If Adelaide has Sarge, and Sarge has Adelaide, where does that leave him? Redundant, unnecessary, eliminated. So many years devoted to guarding Adelaide, body heart and soul, and now that role will fall to another. If Adelaide is kissing Sarge, Rodeo knows damn well it ain't like whatever she had with her husband. That man might have been the father of her baby boy but he had no claim to her. Rodeo knew without a doubt that her suit-and-tie silver spoon fussy little fruitcake man couldn't ever tame and take his baby girl's heart, could never replace him or his role in her life. But Sarge? Rodeo knows exactly how well suited Sarge is for his sister. He knows, because Sarge will always do things exactly how he would do them-- and that's the problem. How long before they realize they're just as complete without him, better off even? His baby girl will turn to his best friend with her troubles. They won't need him. They'll leave him. Leave him alone and cold.
Sarge's fist hits him across the jaw.
It smarts, but Sarge is holding back and it ain't enough pain to drown out the anguish in his heart. It's not enough. What could ever be enough?
Rodeo grabs Sarge by his shoulders. He grits his teeth and slams his head forward, cracking his own skull against Sarge's. If his brother won't hit him, he'll do it himself. He pushes Sarge back against the bunk, blood slicking across his forehead from the gash opened by the impact, head reeling from the crash of their skulls. He tries to do it again but he can't, unsteady on his feet, winded, losing steam fast. Hurt winning out over anger. He coughs out what would have been a sob if they weren't in a room full of men who want to kill him, gripping Sarge's shoulders for support now, trying not to keel over.
"Fuck you," he wheezes, one hand leaving Sarge's shoulder to swipe the blood on his brow away before it can run into his eyes. "Fuckin'... kissin' my sister... fuck... fuck you..."