A/N The firing range I pictured is similar to the one used by Danny when he was still a policeman in Series 3.
Becker marched down the corridors of the ARC, his mind in turmoil. Damn Abby and damn her stupid games. He couldn't believe he'd been thick enough to fall into her trap. He should have seen where she was going with it - but he hadn't and now it was too late. The whole ARC was laughing at him. The tough, bounce-off exterior he presented to everyone was now nothing but crumbling rubble. The respect he thought he commanded with his men, with his colleagues, was now lost amongst their laughter. How could she? What on earth had she been thinking? But he already knew the answer to that one. Abby didn't think - she just decided what things would be best for everyone and did everything in her power to bring them to be. She hadn't considered anything, just leapt in there like the fool she was.
She was right about one thing though, his brain suddenly defended Abby. You are an arse! He shook his head to remove the thought. Unfortunately, it was replaced with an image of Jess, her eyes wide and filling with tears. She had heard everything - including the part in which he'd said she was a child. He'd been unforgivably cruel and she had heard everything. He sighed and stopped walking just for a moment. He really was an arse!
He took the sudden arrest in his motion to look around him for the first time since he left the Hub. The door to his left made him grin. Pulling it open, he traversed the concrete steps down into the small firing range in the bowels of the ARC. He needed to shoot something, shoot a lot of somethings, and down here he could use real weapons, real bullets, real guns. He felt excitement and anticipation and adrenaline bubble up inside him as he jogged down the steps, ready to exorcize his torment.
Lt. Michaels was on duty in the firing range as Becker entered the room. It wasn't a large range by any means, just three lanes, but it was well lit, fully sound-proofed and hardly anyone but him used it. He could be relatively alone with only Michaels for company.
The smirk on Michaels face told Becker that he, like the rest of the ARC, knew of his outburst. Becker had him standing to attention with one look, the smirk disappeared without a trace. Becker scanned his wristband, as was required by his own security measures, and demanded Michaels bring him his Glock semi-automatic pistol. Once retrieved, Becker caressed the weapon in his hands, feeling the cold metal against his fingers, the weight heavy against his palm. He missed that with the EMDs. They didn't have the weight of a real gun; it was like trying to shoot with a plastic water pistol.
He moved to the lane furthest away, took a paper target with the outline of a person depicted on it and fiddled with it for a moment before hooking it up and pressing the button to send it all the way to the back of the lane. He flipped on his protective eye glasses, took out his Comms and replaced it with bulky ear defenders. Then he determinedly planted his feet, raised the gun to shoulder level and gently squeezed the trigger. The noise sounded good, the recoil of the small gun against his hands felt good and the fact that he knew he had hit his target square in the centre of the forehead made him smile with pleasure. He squeezed again and emptied the magazine into the target, the sensations taking over his mind ensuring he didn't have to think about anything. God, he loved his guns.
A/N Sorry its only short, but he will get a surprise in a bit! :-) Reviews please!