At the very least, now he'll be able to hold an ice pack on his broken face without hurting his hand, so that's nice. He doesn't know exactly how much juice she has in her and there's a chance he'll still need to go to hospital to get his nose set, maybe, but his hand is a good start.

"Can't promise that," he admits. Elena has asked him to make that promise time and time again, and he always comes up short. He doesn't mean to pick fights, but apparently Nate has the kind of face and attitude that invites punching, who knew? "He kept talking like I was some kind of slave," Nate answers, and he'd wrinkle his nose in distaste if he didn't know that would hurt like hell right now. "Told me to lick his shoes."

It's not even the worst that anyone has ever said to him, but it rubbed him the wrong way, hit a nerve that hasn't been struck in a long time. Nate worked hard to get himself off the streets and try and make something of himself, and he's not about to let some douchebag throw it all back in his face and treat him like he's nothing.