[Lance acknowledges, processes, and seems to get stuck again. Nate has to wonder if this is what it's like working with his own damn self when he gets caught up, or drifts into a new train of thought. People frequently tell him it's annoying, so, probably.

It's a lot. He exercises patience, tugging his own wrap off and moving around in front of Lance. Gently prying the fabric free he finishes the wrap for him, picking up the conversational slack.]

You're gonna suck the first few days we work on this, [Nate warns him, pinning the cloth to the back of Lance's wrist.] Until you find your rhythm. Practice makes perfect.

[Stepping away with a reassuring pat to Lance's bicep, Nate retreats back to his bag for the punching pad he brought.]

Put that other wrap on, Rocky.