She walked through the door, holding the gun with two hands, pointing it at him… somewhat. Clearly she had no real aim as it wavered side to side. He noticed she wasn’t comfortable holding it, and as expected, the safety was still on. He smirked for a moment, wanting to laugh, but deemed it wise not to.<br/><br/>He looked up at the woman, older than him, but still beautiful and… familiar? He wanted to know why he didn’t fully recognize her, but then again he had no clue who he was either. Still, those green eyes, they sunk into him hard. He stared back with his own dark brown eyes.<br/><br/>“Who are you?” he asked back, trying to be smug. He wasn’t frightened of this woman. She still had the safety on, and with his weight alone he could subdue her. Even if there wasn’t a weight difference, he knew he was capable, trained to fight. He felt it in his muscle memory.<br/><br/>He stopped moving though, and laid back, his torso still bare with the fresh wound, and his thigh still hurting from the second gunshot wound. He could feel that she had patched up his thigh wound, but had the decency to put his pants back on.<br/><br/>He rubbed his auburn hair, feeling the painful bump on his cranium, most likely swollen and bruised. “I’m not here to hurt you if that’s what you want to hear,” he told her. “Then again you won’t know if that’s true. I could easily be lying.” He tried to gauge her, the sweating on her forehead, she was uneasy. He knew how to read people, a skill he gained from… somewhere. “I just needed some help, that’s all.” He breathed in hard. “If you want to know more about me though, I’m going to need you to put the gun down, get me a glass of water and maybe something to wear… if it won’t trouble you.” Of course he didn’t know anything more than she knew, but he didn’t even trust her yet.