Nick returns her glace for only a second, worry still firmly planted in his brow. "If you don't mind. I'll need both hands to sew the sleeve back on my coat. Kind of need two to pull off the detective look."

He chuckles somberly, setting his pen aside and pulling off the buttonless button-up, his eyes lodging themselves firmly on the floor. He knows good and well that there's no way Hope gave her enough parts to fix all the problems he now has. That means more work for Rey, as he can't do it himself in his condition -- more debt to the gods, all because he couldn't keep his nose out of the Colosseum, left the rescuing to people who were better suited for it. Who was he kidding, thinking an old synth like him could help against deathclaws?

Well, he had helped, right before getting his arm ripped off. People were safe because of him; he needed to remember that. What happened to an artificial man like himself didn't really matter in the end.

... except to her. And the fact that it matters so much to her is at the heart of his concerns.