Chapter Seven: Training Sessions

Teaching Brock how to shoot was pretty high up on the list of things that Walt did not want to do. However, Brock was insistent.

"Tomas was going to show me how, and that was a long time ago," he told Walt, sitting back against the couch and giving him that look that seemed to somehow eat right through him. "I need to know how, so that when we go back to get Mom and Jesse, I can help."

"Brock…" Walt said with a sigh, "I don't know if we can go back. And if there is a way, I'm going back alone. I'm not bringing you into this. You're a child. And you're my responsibility. I'm not bringing you somewhere dangerous. Jesse would have my head, and rightfully so."

"Tomas was going to show me how," Brock insisted again. "I need to learn."

"Tomas… had some problems, Brock." Walt was quickly losing patience. "It's decided. I am not teaching you how to shoot a gun. You can throw a tantrum if you want, you can kick and scream if you want, but I'm not…"

"Okay. Hold it like this, Brock." Walt demonstrated, gingerly lifting the rifle and leveling it, aiming at some unknown spot in the distance. They were both bundled up in parkas.

"Like this?" Brock inquired. When he accepted the gun back, his grip was shaky.

"No, Brock. Firm. Like you mean business. Not like you're afraid of it!"

Brock tightened his grip.

"Okay, Uncle Walt."

"That's right, Brock. Good job. Now, do you think you're up to trying one of these out? I was thinking I could take you hunting."

Brock stared at him.

"Hunting for what?"

"Deer, probably," Walt replied matter-of-factly, and Brock shook his head.

"I don't want to shoot deer. Deer are nice," he insisted.

"Try telling that to the people who run into them on the road," Walt replied dryly, but at the distressed look in Brock's eyes, he relented. "Let's shoot beer cans."

Brock smiled and nodded.

"Beer cans. Okay."

A short trip to the local general store later, and a number of cans of beer drunk by Walt (who still somehow felt stone sober, and had given Brock a side-eye when he asked if he could have one), their range was set up in the woods behind the house.

"Be very careful, Brock. I'm going to be standing right behind you." He positioned himself right behind Brock and helped the boy level the gun against his shoulder. "There shouldn't be much recoil here, but still be careful."

Brock looked straight ahead at the cans. His finger was shaking.

"It's okay, Brock. Line up. Keep it in your sights and then when you're ready, pull the trigger."

Brock swallowed hard and lined up as well as he could, then pulled back on the piece of metal. He yelped and flinched as the bullet flew by, overshooting the can he was aiming for by a few inches.

He threw the gun down on the ground.

"I'm never going to be good enough to get them back." He burst into a sob and started to walk back towards the house.

"No," Walt said firmly, "Brock. You get back here. We're going to do this again. We're going to do it until you get it right."

Brock pivoted and looked back at Walt with something that might have been love.

The sun was setting when Andrea made her way down the ladder to the grate. She'd kicked off the high-heels and returned to her more practical sneakers, but she was still wearing the awkward blouse, the skirt, and the lipstick.

"Hey, Jesse," she called. Jesse was curled up against the mattress they'd finally given them to share, his head ducked and his body quivering with sobs.

He looked up at her like he didn't believe she was really there.

"Andrea."

"Hey, baby." She leaned in and slowly wrapped her arms around him, even as she was seized with a fear that after what he thought she must have been doing up there, or even what she actually did up there, he wouldn't want to touch her or want anything to do with her.

"You're safe," Jesse whispered. "Did they hurt you? I was so worried. I was so…"

"Hey… It's okay. I'm not hurt… Just creeped out." Andrea tried to keep her voice light, even as the memories of sitting across from Todd and being served random tea, pretending to be some other woman and knowing where this had to lead one day sent a shiver up her spine. "But I'm okay. Are you…" She gently touched his face, which was slowly becoming a mess of scars and blood, and he flinched.

"I'm just glad you're back," he told her. "I don't want you going up there again."

Andrea swallowed hard. She wasn't sure if that was an option.