Muzzle Discipline
The gun range stood wide out in the open: he specifically picked an outdoor one to, hopefully, give her a little more fresh air and a little less feeling of closing-in walls, despite gun ranges generally being roomy. But, out here, the open sky at least let them watch the early morning slowly turn to light.
John led her out to the range and stopped her just behind the railings. Far down the court, the rows of targets – and yes, they were shaped like torsos with heads – were a bit old-fashioned, maybe, but John preferred it that way. True, Nicole probably didn't, but…
"You'll learn more hitting an actual thing instead of just a holographic target," John said casually as he slipped away from her, leaving her standing there staring down the range like she had no clue in the world. "Nothing beats a physical interface, isn't that right, Darrow?"
"You certainly think so, anyway," Darrow said flatly. "Your affinity for ancient things is unique." His eye wandered over to Ghost. "Relatively unique."
John snorted and motioned Darrow over. "Gimme a pistol."
Darrow flattened his shell over his eye to a perfect line. "Which one?"
He frowned and gestured with one hand. "I don't know, just— gimme one."
A small pistol appeared out of thin air to drop down right on top of John's head. It bounced off – he grunted – and he caught it. One quick swipe at Darrow, which was avoided, and then he turned and rejoined Nicole, who looked straight ahead again, then at the ground, as if watching him had been a crime. John put on a reassuring smile.
"We'll start small," he said, pointedly holding the pistol up.
Nicole nodded. "Doesn't look very small."
John threw it a glance. It was small. It felt and looked like a water pistol in his hand. But to someone not used to guns, maybe it didn't look the same. He… wouldn't really know, and for some reason his mind supplanted that that was unfortunate.
"Well," he shrugged, and then his smile subtly turned to something a little sad, "you'll get used to it. Trust me."
Nicole made a doubting noise, but John reset his smile into something hopefully less morose and moved a little closer to her. "Uh… do you mind if I…?" he gestured vaguely with his free hand.
She blinked at him.
"Ya know," he drawled, his voice going a little too hoarse and crackly for a second, "touch you."
"Oh— oh." She swallowed. "No. I mean, no I don't. You can."
He flashed a sheepish little grin for all of half a second before taking another inch closer. "Leftie or rightie?"
She stared at him. Then mumbled "Rightie," back at him.
Taking her primary arm gently by the wrist, John carefully inserted the pistol into her hand. She settled pretty naturally into the generic way to hold a gun that everyone had probably seen on whatever forms of entertainment they consumed. For her, probably stuff he considered ancient or something.
Very weird.
"That's good," he said, then he reached over and took her other wrist, bringing her hand up to add to her grip. "Put this hand over the other one, like that. Never touch the slide – that's the top movey part – when you're getting ready to use it. And…"
He gently slid her index finger out of the trigger guard. "There's a thing called trigger discipline. Never put your finger in the trigger ring or on the trigger unless you got something in front of you that you wanna… y'know," he tried to pass it off with a tiny shrug and a little smile, "shoot."
He cleared his throat and redirected her finger up along the side of the pistol instead. And… inched closer to her, feeling stupid. Warmth crept up his neck as he released one arm and slid it around her instead, his chest getting cozy with her shoulder.
"Spread your feet," he said quietly, lowering his head some. Just a little. Then a little more, until his nose brushed against the side of her head.
You're a terrible person, something told him, and he tried to ignore it. Shockingly, it wasn't Darrow, though John did throw him a quick look where he floated a few feet away, decidedly downwind from the range.
"Lean forward some," he went on, leaning forward some himself so she would do the same. Now they really were cozy, her back right up against his front. He licked his lips. "Helps against the recoil. Not that… this has much recoil."
Nicole made a noise at the concept of recoil. A corner of his lips tugged up in a small grin.
"I got you," he said. "So, some people in the movies close one eye. Don't do that. Keep both your eyes open, sight your target, keep your arms out straight… and fire."
She did. One squeeze of the trigger later and a loud crack split the air, echoing around them. The recoil was nothing, like he said, though he did feel her start – probably at the sound and the act more than the recoil itself. To her, even with ear protection, it was probably deafening. To him, even loud as it was, it sounded like a normal day.
Of course, she didn't hit crap and the shot went crazy wide, but…
"Nice," John said anyway, offering a quick smile. He stayed right where he was. "See these little doohickies on top of the pistol? Those are iron sights…"
Darrow grated out his longest attempt at a sigh yet. "Shephard…" he started.
John pointedly said, "There's another thing, by the way. It's called muzzle discipline. Kind of like trigger discipline and just as important." He slid the pistol neatly from Nicole's hands and casually waved it in Darrow's general direction.
Instantly, Darrow shrieked and disappeared from sight.
John smiled innocently and said, "Never point a gun at a thing you don't want to shoot. Doesn't matter if it's loaded, field stripped, or your finger's in the trigger house or not. Always treat even a gun frame like it's loaded. Not only is it definitely a safety thing but it's a consideration thing, too. Like Darrow freaked out even though he knows I'd never shoot him."
"Yes, only abuse me in countless other ways," Darrow said dryly from a completely different direction as he reappeared.
"Sounds like you've trained people before," Nicole said hesitantly. The first words she'd said for a while.
But it made John go a bit blank, and then that made her go blank, too, as if she'd done something wrong – again. For his part, John just licked his lips and sauntered back over to her, head a little low.
"I… don't really remember," he rasped, his voice not coming out the way he'd expected. "But – if that means I'm doing a good job, then thanks."
She made another small sound and shifted on her feet. John took it as a compliment.
The pistol training went on for a few more minutes. He showed her how to drop the magazine, how to clear the chamber, where the safety was… and, of course, more on how to shoot.
Every second, John practically felt Darrow's lingering impatience crawling along the back of his neck. What for, he didn't know, but – it did start to go away, at least. Eventually. In fact, by the time Nicole had actually managed to hit the target – which was mostly John helping her aim, but it still counted for something – Darrow almost seemed to be enjoying himself. It was downright creepy.
Because when John turned to him, he promptly asked almost cheerfully, "What's next?"
"Suddenly feeling accommodating?" John said, genuinely confused. And a little worried. "What, do you want to nap in a minute or something?"
Darrow scoffed. "Which stupid gun do you want me to summon for you to bumble about with next, Shephard?"
"That's more like it. You were scaring me, like you were gonna tell me you had a terminal illness or something. If… ghosts can even catch those." He frowned. "I hope they can't."
So he turned to Nicole instead. "Wanna try another one?"
She just made a face and handed him the pistol back like someone would handle a dead fish. Or kind of more like a fish that could come to life at any moment and bite, holding it weirdly by the very butt. John took it with what he hoped was an encouraging smile.
"No," she said. Ouch.
He squinted at her and half winced, half smiled. "Points for honesty," he said. But he promptly turned that into a coy frown and put his hands on his hips in mock sulky confusion, eyes on the ground. "Guess she's not enjoying my teaching, Darrow," he pouted. "Do I suck as a teacher?"
"Oh please," was all Darrow said, because he had no time for fun and everyone knew that, especially him.
"That's not a 'no...'"
"It's not you," Nicole sputtered immediately. "But," she gestured hopelessly but energetically, "I don't like – guns. I don't like shooting. I'm not made for," she threw her arms out, "this."
Silence fell. Abruptly. Not like a gentle snowfall, but like the sky had opened up and dumped ice-cold snow on them in a giant, unceremonious pile, burying everyone in secluded, padded cells of cold.
At least, that was how John felt. Distant, like usual. Like she probably did too, and he knew it.
So he forced a small smile anyway, hoping it didn't look too incredibly sad, though his eyes flicked down to her feet instead of her face. "I know."
And, for a moment, that was all he said. Until he turned on his heel and drawled as casually as he could manage, "Darrow, gimme a light SMG. Something small and… fighty."
That perfect line formed over Darrow's eye again. "So not your favorite compact kind a good ten inches longer than anything reasonable."
John blinked. Then furrowed his brow. "Nnno, not one of those."
Next thing he knew, a fairly small submachine gun appeared out of thin air, and he grabbed it with a quick thumbs-up at Darrow. Then he turned and strode back over to Nicole again, who stood there looking like the perfect subtly fidgeting rabbit she had remained the entire time.
One who had, by the way, never moved an inch from where John had told her where to stand in the first place.
"Okay," John said, holding up the SMG, "maybe this is something you can get the hang of. It's small, light, and fully automatic, so you pull the trigger and the thing gets filled with lead until it's not bothering you anymore. Me, I like rifles, but… they're probably intimidating."
Nicole barely missed a beat. "My life is intimidating."
John blinked. Furrowed his brow. Gave Darrow a quick glance – it was returned, though Darrow's eye was quite a bit wider – and then John glanced at Ghost, who looked just a little like someone had thrown a brick at him… again, as John understood it.
John swallowed. "Well," he said, voice cracking at first until he got it under control, "that's… why we're here." He picked up the broken pieces of his usual optimistic tone as he finished, "So you can intimidate it right back."
He sidled up next to her again, feeling awkward as ever, despite how she didn't even seem terribly affected. Maybe a little self-conscious, but nothing like that warmth still hanging too much around his neck. And face. Especially when he got right behind her again and slid the SMG into her hands, unfolding the stock and settling it against her shoulder.
The SMG went about as well as expected. She pulled the trigger and it went wide, spitting bullets all down the range and a little too far into the air. Then she got flustered, but John just grinned and took the gun back.
"We'll try that one more later," he said – and Darrow promptly came floating over, but John held up a finger at him.
Darrow glared. "What?"
"You're not disappearing these—"
"Transmatting."
"—until I've cleaned them, Darrow. I'm not getting a jam in the middle of a firefight."
Nicole half listened to them bicker back and forth about jamming guns. She'd pried the ear protection out of her ears and now she stood there, feeling so far out of place it was a miracle she hadn't phased out of existence on principle alone.
She'd been terrible. Had she hit anything at all? Anything?
"Nuh, you did great," Ghost lied. He'd stuck himself to her side once the whole shooting ordeal had passed and hadn't floated off once.
Nicole chewed on her tongue and threw him a glance. The light of his eye was all quirked up. Like he was smiling.
"This was your first time handling firearms. So you did great. It's all in the practice. What? You think I've been such an air-acrobat all my life?" He twirled. "Of course not, we all have got to learn. And with Shephard teaching you, you'll get the hang of it in no time I'm sure of it."
She sniffed— everything smelled of gun and she couldn't decide if she liked it or didn't —and tried on a quiet shrug. There was also a faint memory traveling up her side, a ghost (not that Ghost) of a touch lingering long after the warmth of it had gone.
Ghost went on, and while he did, she noticed other Guardians nearby, doing whatever it was Guardians did for morning drills or whatnot. "Though honestly? Did he have to get so cozy—" Ghost whisper-rambled. "—that's not very professional." Nicole shrugged again, not really hearing him. Turned out the 'gun-range' wasn't just here to practice shooting at, and as she watched, a light show played out between those other Guardians. Flares of angry red, liquid purple, and sharp angled blue. Under her heart, that always present ball of pressure resonated. As if saying Stop messing about with pea shooters. You've got me.
Frowning, she turned away. Maybe if she didn't look...
"—but at the end I counted five hits, hey do you want me to go and get those targets, they are paper targets we can take them back home—"
Not looking wasn't working.
Her fingers shook. Her breathing caught in her throat. Knock knock came the vertigo and she bit it back with a sharp exhale. It sodded off, but Ghost's quiet rambling also stopped and he orbited her slowly until settling in front of her to peer at her. The smile was gone. His eye was a bit wider.
"Are you—"
She narrowed her eyes. Now there was a question she'd gotten so tired of hearing and having to answer with an obvious No.
He sorted his colourful shell and made a quiet noise akin to clearing his throat.
"I ought to be going back to the Revive. Make cappuccinos," she said. "Stick to making cappuccinos. I got good at that and coffee isn't going to get my brain fried again or anyone shot by accident."
The spiral came quick and it hit hard. Because that'd been good as the only thing she'd been able to think about the entire time she'd had a gun in her hand.
What if I shoot someone by accident?
What if I am supposed to shoot someone?
She couldn't do that.
Ever. You didn't go around shooting— people. Or things like people. Her tongue slipped between her teeth again and now she had four-armed things filling her mind. Things that'd shot her and that'd killed her and that'd have killed that little girl.
Her thoughts piled up like a badly choreographed cartoon car crash.
Wow.
She'd forgotten the little girl's name. How'd she manage that?
Nicole looked down at her hands. They were shaking. Why were they shaking. Why was all of this so dumb?
Oh god, she needed a walk. She needed the longest ever walk and she needed it now. With her heart lodged in her throat and her ears ringing, Nicole picked a direction — and made it one step before John got in her way. One moment the space in front of her was empty. The next he took it all up and she almost walked right into him.
He was all folded arms and slightly cocked head and lightly raised eyebrows. And all she could muster in turn was a shaky scratch at her neck. Plus, her ears were still ringing and her chest too tight.
"Wanna walk back?" John suddenly asked.
Her brow knitted and she glanced at Ghost. Was he telling on her? Are you telling on me? she thought loudly and clearly and maybe with a hint of panic.
Ghost's shell expanded by half an inch. "What? No. I am not. I said nothing. Absolutely nothing." He turned to look at John. "Please tell her I'm not feeding you what she's thinking or she'll brick me."
John snorted. "No, no he isn't. You just look like someone who could use a walk and I happen to know the best alone-with-your-thoughts routes through the City. C'mon." John turned slightly away from her — and extended the crook of his left elbow.
Nicole's heart gave a perplexed tha-tha-thump, which threw it out of the frantic, anxious rhythm. And her ears? They slowly stopped ringing, though they did turn a little warm instead. Hopefully not too warm. The red kind of warm.
That'd be a disaster, she thought, slipped her arm through his, and tried very hard not to think of ever aiming a gun at something she intended to shoot.