Tracer held the revolver out with both hands, arms stretched out and a slight bend in the elbows. It quivered as she tried to steady it. She frowned: her pulse bracers were well-balanced, easy to handle with one hand. This clumsy thing, conversely, was heavily weighted towards the nose, making it damn near impossible to aim. She shuffled her feet slightly, shifting as she squinted down the thin blade-sight at the glass bottle on the fence. She breathed in, and squeezed the trigger.
The recoil caught her completely off-guard. The weapon bucked back in her hands as though drawn by a magnet in a split-second. It smacked her squarely in the nose and across the side of her eye. She yelped, dropping the weapon and clutching her nose as it started bleeding.
McCree guffawed, standing up from the upturned crate which he was sitting on. "That's not how ya handle Peacemaker, Tracer. Treat her like a lady."
Tracer knelt down, picking up the revolver with one hand. McCree took hold of it.
"Watch. Here's how it's done."
With that, the spun the weapon in his hand, barely even flinching from his stance, and blew the bottle into a thousand pieces.
Tracer's face dropped. "How can you do that so easily?"
He chuckled again. "It's easy when your wrists aren't made like twigs, darl'n."
Tracer growled at him, irritated. "I'll give you 'twig', you git!" She opted to swing at him, connecting with his chest. She yelped again as she realised he was still wearing the cast-iron armor plate under his poncho with a crack. She shook her hand off, hoping she hadn't broken anything. McCree took a hold of her. "Now, that's no way to treat somebody in their own back yard." She sat down on the crate with a huff.
"I don't know why you want me to try and use the damned thing anyway."
A wry grin appeared on his face. "I figured it suited you better to use a man's gun, seeing as how you-"
She put a hand across his mouth, cutting him off. She giggled slightly.
"I getcha... now, let's see if I can't hit something with her, eh?"
She hopped to her feet, attempting to recreate McCree's posture. The gun shuddered in her hand as she attempted to single-handedly wield it. She held her breath and pulled the trigger. The pistol flew from her hand as the recoil broke her grip on the handle. McCree caught it mid-fall. Spinning it to hold it by its still-warm barrel, he handed it back to her.
Tracer held her wrist. "I'm pretty sure that just sprained my wrist."
"Sure? Here, lemme take a look..."
He grabbed her hand and twisted it, in a heavy-handed attempt to check.
"OW!" She yelped, slipping her hand out of his. "Was that necessary?!"
She took hold of the pistol once again. Levelling the sights on the tin can next to where the bottle had been, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet raced down onto the target, rebounding with a whizzing ping. Tracer dived for cover as the bullet zipped past her, taking McCree's hat off of his head.
He stooped down and picked up his hat, replacing it on his head. He took hold of the pistol once more.
"Okay... here's what you should do with a weapon like this." He handed her the Peacemaker, nose-first, placing it in her hand. " Hold it like this, and use it like a damn club. You'll probably hit something that way." He stood back and observed her expression.
She turned from her usual colour to a distinct red across her nose and cheeks.
"You what?!"
With that, she dived on him. Her plan, however, wasn't that well thought through, as he had her face down in the sand a moment or two later.
"MMMMF!" She mumbled through a mouthful of sand as she writhed and wriggle. "GTT...FFFF...MMMMME!"
He chuckled, standing up and taking his weight off of her. She stood up, spitting out mouthfuls of sand.
"Ack! That stuff tastes like shit!" She calmed down. "Shall we go to the pub, forget about that... let's say, pitiful shooting lesson?"
McCree nodded and laughed, putting his arm round her as they headed off up the hill to the local saloon.