Sara squeezed off another shot, effectively emptying her clip, and pressed the button to bring the target back to her. Brass had invited her to the range a couple of months ago, and it was one of the few invitations she had accepted. Now she came at least once a week to the police shooting range, mostly with Brass but sometimes alone, enjoying another side to her new feeling of physicality. She found the fusing of the gun into her body, the timing of the breath and the finger pull required for a tight shot group, as intellectually stimulating at the boxing, and she enjoyed spending time with Brass and some of the other detectives as well. As her shooting had improved, the teasing 'science geek' nickname was used less and less frequently. Brass had even gotten her to go out for coffee or dinner a couple of times, afterwards, surprising them both with the enjoyment they found in each other's company. It was a strange friendship, but it worked.
"Ah, Sara, I thought I would find you here." Brass looked over her shoulder at the target she had been examining. "Nice group." She half-turned and flashed him a pleased grin. "You're getting really good with your service pistol. Maybe you should try a .45 sometime."
"I dunno. .45s are heavy, with a lot of kick."
Brass lightly squeezed her forearm, noting the tight muscles. "I think you can handle it. I've noticed you've been eating your Wheaties."
She chuckled at that as she started refilling her clip. Brass set up in the lane beside her and set up a small target to simulate 100-meters downrange.
"You sure you can see that, old-timer?" she teased, as Brass drew his gun and fired off a quick 3-shot burst. He rolled his eyes at show his estimation of her sense of humor and fired another quick burst. Sara watched as he emptied his clip in controlled bursts of firepower and whistled at the precise groups of three on the target when he was done.
"You were saying something about my eyesight?" He smirked at her.
"Oh, hey, not me," she replied with a grin. He put in another clip and sent another target down range as she wandered over to the back room and started a pot of coffee. This was her favorite part of the firing range ritual: cleaning the weapon afterwards. She got started on taking the weapon apart while waiting for the coffee and Brass to join her. He did, just as she was pouring them both a cup of coffee. "Oh, Sara, before I forget, I may be able to sneak you in on a live-fire exercise sometime with a class of cadets. Would you be interested?"
"Hell, yeah. Just tell me when and where. I've been dying to try pop-up targets."
"Will-do." They shared a smile before cleaning their weapons in companionable silence, the smell of coffee and oil warring in the small space. Sara finished first and clipped her sidearm on her belt.
"I gotta run an errand before shift. See you later?"
He watched her leave, reflecting in the changes he had seen in the young woman the last few months. He had always felt a little protective of her, so smart, eager, and open in a job that required the ability to close off your emotions. He was seen the problem with alcohol coming, could see her on the edge of burn out, and had even tried to warn her, but he had also known that there were some lessons you had to learn yourself. She had taken a week's vacation after the incident, and he had feared for her job and her health, both physical and emotional. But he had been happy to discover he had underestimated her strength and resilience. When she returned to the job, she had come back with a renewed focus and energy, all the more noticeable due to its absence before. He knew she hadn't stopped drinking, hadn't taken the 12-step route, a decision he too had made when faced with similar circumstances, but she had done something. He knew the other CSIs watched her with worry, but he had watched in admiration as she worked through her problems. He could tell it irked her, how her co-workers handled her with kid gloves when she returned, and because he had been there and understood, he found himself inviting her to join him in his favorite relaxation pastime: the shooting range. Her smile when she accepted his invitation would have swept anyone off their feet, and he wasn't immune to her beauty and wholesome charm, but his interest in her was completely paternal. And so began an odd and unlikely but satisfying friendship, revolving around their shooting time and conversations about cases and weapons afterwards.
"Ah, Sara, I thought I would find you here." Brass looked over her shoulder at the target she had been examining. "Nice group." She half-turned and flashed him a pleased grin. "You're getting really good with your service pistol. Maybe you should try a .45 sometime."
"I dunno. .45s are heavy, with a lot of kick."
Brass lightly squeezed her forearm, noting the tight muscles. "I think you can handle it. I've noticed you've been eating your Wheaties."
She chuckled at that as she started refilling her clip. Brass set up in the lane beside her and set up a small target to simulate 100-meters downrange.
"You sure you can see that, old-timer?" she teased, as Brass drew his gun and fired off a quick 3-shot burst. He rolled his eyes at show his estimation of her sense of humor and fired another quick burst. Sara watched as he emptied his clip in controlled bursts of firepower and whistled at the precise groups of three on the target when he was done.
"You were saying something about my eyesight?" He smirked at her.
"Oh, hey, not me," she replied with a grin. He put in another clip and sent another target down range as she wandered over to the back room and started a pot of coffee. This was her favorite part of the firing range ritual: cleaning the weapon afterwards. She got started on taking the weapon apart while waiting for the coffee and Brass to join her. He did, just as she was pouring them both a cup of coffee. "Oh, Sara, before I forget, I may be able to sneak you in on a live-fire exercise sometime with a class of cadets. Would you be interested?"
"Hell, yeah. Just tell me when and where. I've been dying to try pop-up targets."
"Will-do." They shared a smile before cleaning their weapons in companionable silence, the smell of coffee and oil warring in the small space. Sara finished first and clipped her sidearm on her belt.
"I gotta run an errand before shift. See you later?"
He watched her leave, reflecting in the changes he had seen in the young woman the last few months. He had always felt a little protective of her, so smart, eager, and open in a job that required the ability to close off your emotions. He was seen the problem with alcohol coming, could see her on the edge of burn out, and had even tried to warn her, but he had also known that there were some lessons you had to learn yourself. She had taken a week's vacation after the incident, and he had feared for her job and her health, both physical and emotional. But he had been happy to discover he had underestimated her strength and resilience. When she returned to the job, she had come back with a renewed focus and energy, all the more noticeable due to its absence before. He knew she hadn't stopped drinking, hadn't taken the 12-step route, a decision he too had made when faced with similar circumstances, but she had done something. He knew the other CSIs watched her with worry, but he had watched in admiration as she worked through her problems. He could tell it irked her, how her co-workers handled her with kid gloves when she returned, and because he had been there and understood, he found himself inviting her to join him in his favorite relaxation pastime: the shooting range. Her smile when she accepted his invitation would have swept anyone off their feet, and he wasn't immune to her beauty and wholesome charm, but his interest in her was completely paternal. And so began an odd and unlikely but satisfying friendship, revolving around their shooting time and conversations about cases and weapons afterwards.