He weighed the gun in his hand, torn. It wasn’t loaded, but he always kept a box of ammo and a clip in a side pocket of the bag like his father had taught him.

“It’s just breakfast,” he said aloud, unsure whether he was trying to convince himself or his silent but very attentive passenger. “I’m being an idiot.”

Can you get in trouble for carrying it? McClane asked, his voice reassuringly calm.

“Only if I shoot somebody.” Riley checked the gun automatically, making sure the safety was on and the weapon in full working order even though he knew it was. He’d always taken good care of it. “I’ve got a permit to carry concealed.”

He’d applied for the permit when his father had still been alive and received it about a week after his father’s death. It was still valid, if a little dog-eared. Riley had kept it because he didn’t want to give up the H&K, and keeping the gun in his bag counted as carrying concealed. He didn’t even own a holster anymore, mostly because he wasn’t in the habit of carrying the damn thing on his person.

Then what’s the harm in taking it? McClane’s tone was completely reasonable, as though it wasn’t moronic to use a gun as a sort of security blanket.

“It makes me feel like an idiot,” Riley repeated, just in case McClane hadn’t gotten it the first time. “The only people who run around with guns outside of the shooting range are cops, assholes, and—”

He stumbled over the last, but McClane caught it anyway.

Criminals, he finished quietly, so much understanding in his voice that Riley felt something hot and tight close up his throat. He nodded, staring down at the gun in his hand until the lump went away. He wasn’t sure if it was he who made it go or the sensation of McClane wrapping himself around him in silent support.

Take it, McClane told him finally. I don’t think anything’s amiss, but I don’t have much experience yet. Not enough to develop intuition. So we’re gonna trust yours.

“What if I’m wrong?” Riley asked, but his fingers tightened around the ribbed grip of his father’s gun, his body telling him he wasn’t. It was the kind of premonition that made a person take the stairs instead of the elevator some days, or choose to work in the barn instead of riding out on a cantankerous horse. Just in case.

Then we’re gonna be sitting somewhat uncomfortably with that thing tucked into your waistband, McClane said, and if a voice could’ve shrugged, that’s what his would’ve been doing. Thankfully, he didn’t attempt the actual movement. You’re safe either way, but I don’t have long-range defenses. So if anything does happen, it’ll be good to have it.