"You're welcome," Wyatt says on the tail end of the exasperated rant, and tries not to smile as though the other man's said something funny. There's nothing funny about people disappearing without any kind of warning. Just a stab in the back, in the dark, and then you're gone.

He presses air out of his nose, spreading his fingers to cover Paul's on the bench. He agreed not to advertise, but also not to hide - and to his mind, he can't find one single thing offensive about one hand touching another.

"If one day I'm no longer here..." Oh, what the fringe. He lets go of Paul's hand, sliding two long fingers into his breast pocket, coming out with a teeny tiny little thing. A trinket, really, but he holds it out for Paul to see as if it's not just a painted clay horse with what seems to be a bullet crammed right into it.

"I want you to have this. It's not a Hell of a lot, but..." He shrugs. "Call it a lucky charm."