[The guilt in Nate's voice sears him; cuts right through the anger and the hurt. Who is he to make a big deal about this anyway-- Wade Wilson, the fucking poet laureate of terrible choices and knee-jerk decisions? Hasn't he also tried to fill up the constant voids in his life with inane actions and hare-brained schemes? Next to most of the shit he pulled in his old life, joining the mob is pretty small potatoes. At least Nate didn't accidentally unleash a horde of Venom-infused dinosaurs on a major city or anything like that.

If Nate happens to look Wade's way he'll notice the man visibly wilt; the self-righteous fire in his eyes dimming to something more conciliatory and sympathetic. He stops his pacing around the room, coming over to sit down beside the other man.]

Okay. Okay. Maybe I flew off the handle a little bit there. I know you didn't do it on purpose-- you're not that type of guy.

[He takes a deep breath; lets it out in a sigh. One hand comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose again.]

I guess I was a little selfish too. I mean... we had a good thing going here for a while, y'know? At least, I thought we did. And then your brother shows up and all of a sudden... I dunno. I mean, I get it. He's been with you forever and you thought he was dead, and--

[Wade falls back against the couch, his hands covering his face. His voice is muffled.]

Fuck. I'm so bad at this. Just ignore me, it's fine. You don't gotta explain yourself.