That sad feeling settles over him like a blanket, and the gray slowly shifts back to lavender in his eyes.

"Nothing," Nathaniel murmurs, deflated. "I... don't expect you to do anything."

And he truly doesn't. He's not sure what he'd been wanting out of this confrontation, but Nathaniel's pretty sure he's gotten it. Whatever it had been. Maybe later, when talking with Liz or Damian, he'd sort it out enough to know, but right now he just feels kicked in the stomach.

Nathaniel goes to the dresser and picks up his t-shirt, slipping it on, tugging it down a couple of time, and though he tries to find words, nothing comes to mind. So, he grabs his socks and goes to a nearby chair, sitting down to put them on.