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( ah.

he's got a coin in his pocket that feels heavier, suddenly. funny, how his own death was the easiest to accept — but when he looks at someone like nathan, who's got so much to offer the world, bein' reminded of his death hits him just to hurt. some lights shine brighter than others, an' the world dims when they're snuffed out. his mouth tugs down at one corner, an' he gives his head a soft little shake as if tryin' to dispel it some. )

You think he's plannin' on bein' dangerous to folks here?

[ Nate suddenly wishes he weren't standing here like some kind of goober holding ice cream for an otherwise serious conversation. He inhales slowly, measured, taking the time to exhale again, scrunching his face up in thought. ]

No.

[ He's had a lot of time to think about what Five said, words that rattle around in his head every time he and Rafe are in proximity. Do you think he might hurt your friends, or does it bother you that he's getting close to them after what he's done to you and your brother? Because one of those things is for them to deal with, and one of those things is for you to deal with.

It bothered him then. Still does, to an extent. Nate knows it's his own damn problem, that people can handle themselves, that it isn't envy so much as concern. Maybe fear. He doesn't have the words yet to really articulate the sensation in a way that's academically satisfying and comprehensible in layman's terms. He almost sounds defeated when he says: ]

He's pretty much only homicidal around me and my brother.

( that's a lot to parse. an' it's a lot to take, an' gene knows he's going to have to sit down at some point by his lonesome an' suss things out thereon. but for the time bein', it's a friend of his that's hurtin'.

he sort of steers the both of them to a bench an' gestures for nate to take a seat before he follows suit. )

Well... I'll be honest, you're a fella here too, an' that don't reassure me much. I'd just as soon not have you hurt.

[ Nate lets himself be led even in the uncomfortable silence, unsure as to what exactly is running through Gene's mind. He doesn't doubt the impression Rafe made was a charming one, he's always had that air when he's not stabbing a Panamanian warden in the lungs just between the ribs, when he's not curb-stomping Sam's face into the dirt. Rafe Adler knows how to work rooms in ways Nate will never be able to, has an ease of comportment to him that can't be imitated. He's good at what he does, and can't be faulted for that.

Seating himself, Nate sets his half-empty cup of ice cream aside, appetite lost. Or maybe it's just the ration chocolate kicking in.

He tries not to look so startled when Gene continues, wondering for a split-second if he's talking to someone else. Nate actively looks behind him, over his own shoulder, before turning back slowly, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. ]

...Genie, [ Too familiar? He's already committed, leaning in with an arm propped on the back of the bench. ] I know you haven't known me very long, but I can assure you I'm no stranger to getting hurt.

( the name should be a scar. but kyna's been peeling back the tissue and it's healin' clean. grief chokes him, but he swallows it down. nate's earned it, an' reggie wouldn't hardly mind the man musclin' in on his territory anyhow.

he settles on somethin' like a smile, just turned up faint at one edge. there's a sadness to it he can't shake, but it's real. )

Oh, trust me, Nathan, that ain't escaped my notice. That you're accustomed to all manner of violence bein' done you ain't hardly a secret.

( he wears it in every line'a his body. that casual acceptance of pain. )

But just because you can take somethin' sure don't mean y'should have to.

[ It's a practical sort of reason, the one that Gene gives him. The kind of thing Nate has most definitely told others, if hypocritically, and the kind of thing that folks have absolutely told him. Burdens are easier carried with two or more people, a fact of which he is abundantly aware, but it doesn't keep him from wanting to protect them from himself or what tends to follow him.

They're dead, but that doesn't mean they can't die. That they can't be hurt. His tolerance for it is stronger than so many people's, it seems stupid to pass it on when he's capable of wielding it himself. ]

...look, I appreciate the gesture.

[ Something he tries to convey with the utmost sincerity, taking a patient breath, exhaling slowly. ]

But it's my problem. I can handle it. I'm not trying to be brave, or stupid, but his beef is with me. I don't want that to extend to anyone else.

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