John hated to admit it, but she was a better shot than he was.
Miranda: "Here," She steadied his arm.
John: "I got it, I got it,"
Miranda backed up and gave him the space he much as screamed for. She knew her touch was distracting him. That was the point. Mostly.
Miranda: "Uh huh, just take the shot."
Miranda: "Good, but I'm still better."
John: "Did you learn that yourself or are you just drawn that way?"
Miranda: "I love guns, always have. When I was a little girl I would get so mad at my father,"
John: "When you were a little girl?"
Years and years and she was still mad at him, rightfully so, but in his own jabbing way he wanted her to move on.
Miranda: "I would go out and shoot bottles, they weren't always empty-full of thousand dollar wine-it made me feel better. Maybe you're right, maybe he wanted me to be angry, to push me and see what I would do. I know he put aim stabilizers in me and-"
John: "And maybe I'm just jealous,"
Miranda: "You're giving me this one?"
John: "Yup,"
She was quiet again. Her silence had less to do with the words coming out of her mouth and more to do with her eyes. They were unreadable. She looked at the stars which had been home for him his whole life until he met her and thought 'maybe this is it, maybe this is who I've been waiting for'.
Miranda: "Did you know yours? Your parents?"
John: "No. They know I'm alive. I know they care. No."
Miranda: "I won't say I'm sorry,"
John: "I won't either."