â€œThat's a pretty name.â€ Nathan said to her response, â€œYour parents had to have been interesting people.â€ It was a compliment. And Nathan gave her a quick smile before looking back to the boy. He didn't seem eager to reply, so Nathan went back to focusing on the tape, only looking up to check on what they were doing and get that better look at this â€œA.J.â€ When Rainie asked for the change of clothes, Nathan looked up at her again.<span style="font-style: italic">What was that inflection for? And why is that damn kid still glaring at me that way?</span><br/><br/>â€œYeah, sure.â€ he replied, looking back down and smoothing the tape on his shoulder. It would have to do. â€œJust a sec.â€ Nate tugged the shirt he was holding on quickly; at least as quickly as he could. It fit snugly and comfortably, but getting it on caused him no small amount of pain. The tape tugging at his skin was one thing, but it also made the bandage stiff, so it bent awkwardly and pressed on his wounds when he lifted his arm.<span style="font-style: italic">The prices we pay for peace of mind.</span>By the time he got the thing over his head, Rainie was pulling her jacket off. It hadn't protected her from the rain and her shirt clung wetly to her body, neatly outlining her slim form. God, she was even more beautiful than he'd thought. Her braid was coming loose and stray hairs of crimson clung to her cheek and fell over her shoulder. Nathan swallowed unconsciously, a reaction that, had he noticed, would have left him rolling on the floor with laughter until his sides hurt for the sheer clichÃ© of it. When she kneeled down and spilled the bullets into her lap, he stared; not so much at the ammunition as where it lay. The water had much the same effect on her pants as on her shirt, and she had perfect legs.<br/><br/>Like a rubber band breaking, the young student snapped back into himself. He shook his head in spite of punching himself in the jaw.<span style="font-style: italic">That was an idiotic few moments! I really need to get away from these two.</span>Although, all of a sudden, he really didn't want to.<span style="font-style: italic">Matters at hand, genius. Matters at hand.</span>Nathan spun around in a jolt, as if trying to catch up on the seconds he's just spent spaced out, and pulled open a drawer. In reference to the ammo he just said, â€œAll yours. I only have the shotgun.â€<span style="font-style: italic">Why did you just tell them that!?</span>he snapped at himself, wincing slightly. â€œDunno, let me check it out really quick.â€ he added about the radio as he spun around and dropped a pile of random clothes next to the girl.<br/><br/>Taking the radio and sitting back down where he'd been, Nathan examined the it intently, playing with the knobs the same way Rainie had. The best way to fix something was to play with it till you knew it inside and out; then and only then, could you spot all that was amiss. This search for problems didn't take long. The battery case was a crack open, ruining the radio's waterproofing. Inside, the months of rain seeping in had caused the battery to explode and the connections to rust. They rattled, loose inside the case. â€œDepends on how far in the water got inside.â€ he told the room absently as he set the radio on the floor and pulled his bag back to him. First pulling a fresh 12 volt battery from a side pocket, Nathan rummaged inside the main pocket once more. Fixing things always took him to a calm place. Working his brain and figuring out how all the pieces of the world fit together. That was what he should have spent the rest of his life doing. Not fighting. Nathan wasn't a fighter.<br/><br/>From the main pocket, he pulled out his tool kit and then, with a sigh, a pair of jeans rolled around something that rattled in the pathetic way of something broken. The tool kit was really nice. It was in one of those soft cases that rolled open, displaying all the pieces: of which it held far more than any hard-case toolkit he'd ever owned. Nate grabbed a small screwdriver and opened the  back of the radio. Turns out, the back of the contact had rusted off and left the wires dangling loose. Easy enough. He grabbed his wire strippers, clipped the filthy end of the wires off, stripped a bit more of them, used the screwdriver to knock away as much of the battery acid and rust as he could and lifted what was left of the contacts up so he could wedge the now exposed wires behind them. He closed it up, then, and popped the new battery in; the radio hissed with the sound of white noise as soon as the battery touched. Nathan slid the lid back on and tossed the radio back. â€œThere ya go.â€ The whole fix took less than five minutes.<br/><br/>Then he turned to the rolled up pants and pulled out the engine of a remote control plane. It was the same one he'd pulled the radio transceiver from for his gas station bomb, only the engine he held now was a mass of exposed copper coils, rough metal frames and soldered on cords. The copper coils dangled freely as he picked it up. â€œDammit.â€ Nathan muttered, examining the snapped frame, then immediately moved on to repairing it.