He sees the look his earplugs get. He huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes a little. Whatever, he'd almost blown out his eardrums at the indoor range with Billy. He's not going to risk that again. If it gets too loud for his old-ass ears, he'll pop them in.

He wonders, if they'd grown up normal like Nathan had asked him once, if this was something they would've done. If their dad had stuck around, would he have taken them out shooting, taught them how to hold the gun and fire it? Or would they have gone hunting with him, bagged a turkey for Thanksgiving like any other blue-blooded American family? He'd told Nathan, in Libertalia, that that life wasn't for him, that he preferred the hand they'd been dealt. For the most part, that's true, but moments like this do make him wonder.

And he wonders, too, if Nathan had the same thoughts, or if he simply hadn't gotten there yet. Maybe settling down with Elena is what prompts him to start that line of thinking to begin with, and this version of his little brother hasn't done that, yet.

At the mention of Marlowe, Sam returns the clap to Nathan's shoulder and shakes his head. "Bless you for working up the balls to picture it long enough to shoot," he quips. He hasn't ever met Marlowe, but he's heard enough stories to know that she sounds like a bitch, and if she ever shows up, he'll have Nathan's back.

Granted, he'd have his back regardless. That's what big brothers are for.

"How late am I, anyway?" he adds, gesturing at the target. "Or did you just get impatient?"