When Steve got back, an officer led him back a few hallways to Carl. He had never been to this part of the station before. The officer explained that it was usually off-limits to non-officers, but Captain Winslow had insisted they make an exception. He opened a door with a keycard and held it for Steve. "Good luck, kid," he said.

Steve walked in cautiously and saw Carl leaning over a countertop. As he came up behind him, he saw the man-shaped targets several feet ahead of Carl. "Carl, is this a gun-range?"

"Yes," he said gruffly. He loaded the pistol in his hand with remarkable speed and handed ear protection to Steve. "Put this on before I shoot."

"Big Guy, what's going on? Why am I here?"

"Put it on, Steve!" Carl barked, aiming ahead of him. As soon as Steve started to lift the protection to his ears, Carl started to shoot. He shot the target in front of him quickly and with deadly accuracy. First the center of his forehead. Then his heart. Then his groin. He exhaled sharply as he set the gun down and turned back to Steve who was staring at him wide-eyed. "There," he said. "I feel better."

Steve quickly ripped off the ear protection and stepped back. "What? Why?!"

"Because I was mad, and that felt good."

"It shouldn't!"

"But it did. Now, put that protection on again and c'mere. I'm going to teach you how to shoot tonight, and then I'm buying you a gun in the morning."

"What? Why?" he exclaimed again. "Have you met me, Carl?! I'm the last person on Earth who should have a gun!"

"I would have said that too, until you learned how to juggle knives. If you can do that, you can do this."

"Carl, I'm not sure that's true!"

"Steve, just try it. There's nobody here but me and you, and I will make sure I stand really far away."

Steve took a deep breath and walked over to Carl. He put the ear protection back on and slipped goggles over his glasses.

"Plant your feet here," Carl said, guiding him to the appropriate position. "Take the gun," he said, helping him grab it correctly. "Point at the target," he continued, aiming it for him. "Pull the trigger," Carl said as he planted his feet too to help steady Steve from the kickback.

Steve swallowed hard and closed his eyes tightly.

"Open your eyes!" Carl exclaimed. "Never close your eyes with a gun in your hand."

Steve jumped and opened his eyes. "Sorry, Big Guy," he whimpered.

Carl helped him aim again and noticed he was beginning to shake. "Relax, Steve. Pull the trigger."

Steve took a deep breath and finally pulled it. He felt the kickback from the small pistol. He understood the physics and knew it was coming, but he was still shocked by the force of it. He staggered back slightly, and Carl steadied him. He felt a rush of adrenaline as the bullet left the chamber and a fantasy flashed in his mind.

"Urkel. Steven Q. Urkel," he purred, his voice an octave or two lower in his own imagination.

Laura was in front of him in a stunning, revealing, expensive gown. "Charmed," she replied breathily.

"Was this… thug bothering you?" he asked, kicking a wounded Alex below him, bleeding from a serious, but not fatal, chest wound.

"He certainly was. I'm so glad you were here to protect me."

Steve stepped closer to her, stepping around Alex as paramedics hauled him away. He grabbed her firmly and pulled her against his body. "Trust me, Darling," he whispered, having suddenly developed a British accent, "We won't be using any protection for what we're going to do next." He swiftly swept her up into his arms and kissed her deeply as he began to walk away with her, not bumping into anything at all.

"Steve, you ok?" Carl asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Oh, my God! Carl! That was so exhilarating!" he exclaimed sharply, almost surprised by the high-pitched nasal of his voice, turning to face Carl.

Carl dropped to the ground abruptly. "STEVE. PUT THAT DOWN BEFORE YOU TURN AWAY FROM THE TARGETS," he boomed.

Steve jumped in surprise and dropped the pistol to the ground.

Carl grabbed it quickly and put the safety on. "Damn it, Steve! You have to be careful!"

"I'm sorry!" he wailed. "Big Guy, I'm so, so sorry! You see?! This is what I mean! I can't be trusted with that," he whined, pointing at the gun in Carl's hand.

"You can be if you just learn to be safe with it."

"I don't need a gun, Carl."

"You do. You need a gun to protect my daughter."

"No, I don't, Carl!" Steve exclaimed, growing offended. "What kind of antiquated idea is that? Men don't have to kill each other to protect their women anymore."

"They do in this situation. This isn't a robbery, Steve. We taught our kids to just give muggers and robbers and thugs what they want whenever it's possible, but there is a delusional man stalking Laura, and what he wants is Laura, and you're certainly not just going to give him what he wants when he eventually snaps!"

"I know what the situation is, Carl! But there are other ways to keep her safe. My security system is almost done."

"That won't be enough. That's all preventative. You need something for the moment things don't go as planned. You need to be able to protect her in the worst possible moment," Carl said firmly. "This can do that."

"Can it?" Steve demanded. "Because ninety people are shot in this country every single day BY ACCIDENT. Every 16 hours, someone in the US is killed by an unintentional shooting. Over 36,000 people are killed by guns in the US every year. That's about 100 deaths a day. We know about one and a half are by accident. Every day one person is killed in a justifiable, legal defensive interaction. That leaves about 97.5 deaths a day from people just killing other people and themselves. And not just adults! American children are as likely to die by a gunshot as they are to die by cancer."

"Steve!" Carl interrupted. "I know these statistics. We record these statistics."

"Then, of course, there's the risk of me pulling a gun on him and him using it on Laura or me."

"Steve, I get it. I know you don't like guns, and I understand why you don't like guns, but in this case-"

"You don't like guns either, Carl! Remember when we had that whole gun drive? Remember when Josie got shot?!"

"Of course, I remember, Steve! That was the last time I was this concerned for my daughter's safety," he barked. "I don't like guns when stupid teenagers have them. I don't like guns when gang members have them. I'm glad that cops have them! And there are some responsible citizens who can be trusted with them."

Steve fumed. "That's a thin, thin line, Carl."

"Steve, what are you going to do if he really tries to hurt Laura? What if he has a weapon? What if he tries to rape her or kill her?"

Steve looked away immediately. They had been dancing around that word all day, and he hated hearing it. He and Laura had been dancing around it more often than not for the past few weeks. Someone killing Laura was definitely his worst nightmare, but someone raping her would be a special kind of Hell itself. Steve said a silent prayer and spent a moment focusing on his breathing. "I will put my body between his and hers. I will die protecting her."

"Damn it, Steve! I don't want you to get hurt either! And what happens after you're out of his way? He's just going to do what he wants to do anyway!"

"Well, what are you really recommending, Carl?! A gun will be helpful if he comes to hurt Laura without a weapon or with a knife, but if he brings a gun, what good will it do me?"

"It gives you a fighting chance, Steve!"

"No, it doesn't. All it takes is a split second of hesitation, and I will hesitate. I know I will because I'm never going to find it as easy as he will to take a life," he said seriously. "I don't like guns, Carl. They're dangerous, and they're just… wrong."

Carl turned back to his pistol and slipped it back in its holster. He turned from Steve and moved to sit on a bench on the other side of the room. Steve sat beside him after a long moment of awkward silence. "I just want her to be safe," Carl said eventually.

Steve swallowed hard and looked down at his hands. "I resent the fact that you don't think I can keep her safe. I know I'm not the most traditional, masculine man, but I have my own strengths."

Carl looked at him and studied his face for a long, contemplative moment. "It's not that I don't think you're a man, Steve. I know you love Laura, and I know you'll do anything to protect her, and I know you can think your way out of more situations than I could ever shoot my way out of. It's not that I want to make you more masculine. I just want to make you more like me. It's killing me that I can't be there for her every second of every day. I hate that I have to let you be her protector and emergency contact. It's not because there's someone else or you could be somehow different to make me feel more comfortable. I just want it to be me, and if it can't be me, I want to do everything I can to make you more like me because that's as close as I can come to keeping her safe from this."

"But I'm not you, Carl. I'm not a cop. I'm a scientist."

"I know, Steve, and I understand why you don't wanna be like me in this situation. I'm completely enraged and irrational. The opposite of a good cop and a good scientist."

Steve chuckled bitterly. "Maybe we aren't that different. Carl, I'm so mad I can't see straight. I just wanna go find that guy and rip his throat out with my bare hands." He paused for a moment. "Well, maybe not his throat actually," he said with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Carl chuckled that same defeated way. Then he paused for a moment. "Now, that's an idea."

Steve's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Come with me," he ordered, rushing out of the room