Relena did as he said, smiling slightly as he put his arms around her to correct the way she was holding it. "Can I try shooting now, Heero?" Her laugh was as gentle as the breeze but he still stepped back, a little shamed, and nodded.
"Right, of course."
"I bet I don't hit the target at all..." she said, distracted, squeezing the trigger tentatively, her hands shaking as she held the gun up. He shook his head slightly, but didn't say a word, letting her at least try to get it right for herself. After a moment, she released the trigger and just shook her head. "I can't shoot, I don't even know why I'm trying."
He put his arms around her again, supporting the gun for her. "Just pull the trigger, I'll hold it steady for you. It shouldn't kick back too much, it's only a pistol."
She pulled the trigger slowly, almost as if she expected the gun to bite her once she'd fired it. Finally, it went off with a bang and she jumped. Heero's laugh was amused, but not unkind as he let go of her. "How did I do?" she asked, squinting at the target, ignoring her friend's laughter.
"I don't know, let's go and see."
"Oh no, I don't want to look, you just tell me."
He didn't answer that, just went and looked at the target, coming back with a straight face. "You did okay."
"Really?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.
"If okay is a metre left and half a metre above the target, yes," he said, still straight faced.
"I hate you," she said, perfectly straight faced as well.
"Of course you do," he said, nodding, without - yet - laughing.
"I really do."
"I suppose," he said, with an air of doubtfulness, "I'll let you blame the breeze, if you like. Even though it was coming from the left, which would have blown your bullet to the Iright/I."
She pushed at him, playfully, and he pushed back, very careful to be gentle. Somewhere in the laughing, they managed to forget the gun and the range and the fact that she was supposed to be training, and they sat down on the grass and talked like good friends. Which, of course, they were.
"My hair was in my way," she insisted, when they finally remembered the subject of the wayward bullet. "I should have braided it to keep it out of the way."
"I'll do that for you," he offered, and she nodded. "Not that I've ever really braided hair," he warned her, but he was quick at it anyway, twisting the sections of hair together neatly and efficiently, as if he did it every day of his life.
"I have faith in you. I suppose," she said, tilting her head back a little to let him get at her hair easier. They were quiet for a few minutes until he found an elastic band (he always had such things handy) and snapped it round the end of the braid. "I wasn't so bad a shot, really, was I?" she asked, all of a sudden.
"Not really. You were only about thirty centimetres out to the right, I think," he said, and that made her turn around and push at him again.
"I hate you!"