[Nate doesn't need a doctorate in psychology to tell that Lance is vastly discomfited with every passing second. It isn't like him to be so quiet, to cull his commentary into non-existence, to gaze so moodily at their surroundings as if waiting for something to go horribly wrong. The definitive lack of backtalk is what clues him in to the fact that Lance is...afraid.

Of fighting, or learning how? Of executing physical violence, or receiving it? Both? All of the above?

Nate realizes with a sudden gut-punch of dismay that he should have put the puzzle pieces together a lot sooner than just now. Lance's early childhood was a battleground for his own safety. He died trying to defend himself from a trained killer. The association is already tainted and while Nate won't cushion the experience with bubble-wrap, the least he can do is make accommodations for the reservations Lance obviously has.]

Hey. Look at me. [He raises his eyebrows at the wandering gaze.] You're new at this. It'll take some time. Stop overthinking it, your face is going to get stuck like that.