A/N: This chapter consists of two flashbacks and, just to confuse everyone, I decided to switch up the formatting so the majority of the text wouldn't be italic. Hope it makes sense...
(Equivalent Year: 2145)
The next time they managed to find a spare afternoon to head down to the range, the fourth Terra Novan summer had broken. The underground room was still ventilated but it wasn't actively cooled, and stray heat got trapped very easily in the sealed environment.
Not that Alicia saw this as a particular issue when Taylor turned up at the range wearing one of his famous black t-shirts.
(Winter was a hardship for everyone; readjustment to life in cold weather after the heat and pollution of the 22nd Century was always a challenge in pilgrims' first years in the colony. But Alicia had long since learned to embrace the changing seasons and instead – privately – declared the first day of the year that he wore full sleeves a day of personal torture for her.)
She never let her personal feelings get in the way of her duties – not when she was younger, and definitely not now. It appeared, however, that while they were down in their private space and technically off-duty, his sartorial choices were rather detrimental to her concentration.
By the time she'd missed three shots in a row he'd stopped his own firing and was watching her carefully. This, naturally, only made things worse and she was up to ten misses when he held up a hand to indicate she should stop.
"Yes?" She said tersely, once she could hear again. "Sir." She added, as an afterthought – he didn't look particularly perturbed by her lack of formality but it helped ease her mind to remind herself of his rank.
"You're not concentrating." He said, leaning his hip against the partition between their lanes. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wr-wrong." She said, stumbling over her words when he crossed his arms to signal his disbelief of her instant disagreement.
"Bull, Wash. Something's bothering you and I'd like to know what it is."
She sighed, rolling her eyes and turning away from him. She turned back with a hand to her forehead, squinting at him. "You really don't know? After all these years?"
He frowned. "Know what?"
Alicia groaned. "Ayani always said you were oblivious."
She thought she might have pushed it too far with the reference to her old friend, the heat and slow-burning tension in her gut getting the better of her for a moment. But Taylor smiled, obviously caught in happy memories. "And she was always right. Are you going to tell me? Or do I have to work it out for myself?"
"You're distracting me, sir." She said finally. "And I'd say it's fair to say you can work out why on your own." She added, gesturing at his general upper body area.
He looked down at himself in confusion and she watched a slow smile form on his face as he figured out what was causing her discomfort. He stood up straight, looping his thumbs through his belt and looking far too pleased with himself. "Want me to cover up, Wash?"
She shot daggers at him, pulling the protectors over her ears forcefully. Her voice sounded odd to her ears when she spoke again. "That won't be necessary, sir. Suddenly I find myself less distracted than I thought."
She could just about hear his laughter as he walked away to his own lane and she picked up her favourite pistol. Taking aim, she picture Taylor's smug expression on the face of the target; she grinned to herself as she emptied her clip at it.
Every bullet hit dead centre.
#
He exploited his newly gained knowledge gleefully for much of the next few weeks. Alicia realised the only way to snap him out of it was to not give him the satisfaction of being embarrassed about it. Several times she openly stared at him as he gave a briefing, a tiny smirk on her face.
One day – probably far too long since she started her little game, they'd walked a very fine line and got away with it longer than they should have – Guzman noticed, looking between the two of them a couple of times before realisation dawned clear on his face. Alicia relented then, making a concerted effort to keep herself in check while in public.
#
(Equivalent Year: 2145)
He led the way down to the range the next time they got a chance to indulge, stepping aside to allow her to start setting up. She removed her jacket to reveal a tank top beneath and he couldn't hold back a smile – this was her way of getting him back for the t-shirts. His eyes lingered on her exposed skin, not caring that she was obviously aware he was doing so if the lazy way she raised her arms above her head to stretch was any indication.
She turned to face him, hands resting on the top of her head as she smiled at him. "What's the plan sir?"
He approached slowly and leant over her to grab one of the new cleaning cloths, purposely entirely too close – especially since reaching around her would have been the easier option. He noticed her gaze redirect to his outstretched arm and would have commented if her eyes hadn't suddenly snapped back to his without a hint of guilt.
Holding it between them, Taylor folded the material into a strip and presented it to her horizontally with a raised eyebrow. "Trust me?"
She nodded instantly. "Of course, sir."
"Good. Grab a rifle." He said and she didn't even hesitate – an indication of her increased confidence in her own ability. He took it from her when she presented him with her favourite and placed the weapon and magazine next to each other on her bench. "Face the target."
She did as he asked without question, and he looped the material over her eyes. Her hands came up to hold it in place as he tied it tightly beneath her ponytail.
"Good?" He asked, stepping back.
"Yes, sir." She said. Shifting her weight to become centered, she reached for her ear protectors and placed them on.
With two of her senses dulled by his actions and a third practically useless in this situation, Taylor knew how heavily Wash would be relying on her remaining senses of smell and touch.
And just how much he could take advantage.
She took a few deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth; analysing the surrounding area, taking in the smell of harsh metal and warm skin. He could almost see the cogs turning in her head as she drew up a mental image of the room. He watched over her shoulder as her right hand stretched out for the rifle, curling around the grip immediately. Her left reached for the magazine and snapped it into the gun without a second thought.
He brought his hands to hover over her sides, scant inches above the material of her top. She held herself rigid within the confines of his quasi-hold, lifting the rifle to brace it against her shoulder.
And fired.
It wasn't awful. She grazed the side of the target, sending it fluttering. In response, Taylor moved his left hand to cup her side gently.
She understood, adjusting her stance and letting off another round, which hit close to the opposite edge of the target. In response he removed his left hand and placed his right up against her side instead, fingers aligning in the dips of her ribs.
Her next attempt was within one of the inner rings, still slightly to the right; he squeezed the hand still on her body. The next was nearly in the centre – Wash always was a quick learner – but a little to the left, so he replaced his right with his left.
The next shot was central, and he brought both hands into contact with her and just held them there, indicating her alignment was sound.
She emptied the rest of the magazine into the target under his guidance. When she put the rifle down and removed the ear protectors, her shoulder was slightly pink but the grin on her face told him all he needed to know.
Time to up the ante.
"Stay." He said, and though her mouth twisted in annoyance she did as he asked.
"I'm not a dog, sir."
"Sorry." He chuckled. "Would you please remain where you are, Lieutenant Washington?"
He watched her scowl melt away at his apology – they were rare, and not usually so freely given. "Yes sir." She said, waiting patiently for his next instruction.
He returned to her and placed another magazine in her hand. She turned and picked up the gun, instinctively remembering exactly the position she'd left it in. Loading the bullets and bracing the rifle once more, she aimed at the target and then paused.
He leaned over her shoulder and spoke directly into her ear. "As you were, Wash." He said, placing the protectors back over her ears.
She attempted a fresh shot, her posture almost exactly as it had been before despite the lack of his hands as a guide. It hit roughly an inch outside her previous best and he grinned at her talent so openly displayed.
There was a moment of silence before he realised she was waiting for his indication of what adjustment to make. Leaning forward he ghosted his lips over the left side of her neck, the rasp of his beard just skimming over her skin. He could feel her breath catch; could see the sly smile that formed on her face as he stepped back.
Her next shot was much too widely adjusted. It landed to the right this time, outside the two inner rings. If he was being entirely honest with himself he wasn't certain if that was just a consequence of him successfully throwing her off her stride (a little too easily, really) or – far more likely - if Wash had some ulterior motive.
Not particularly needing the excuse, he switched sides and pressed his lips to the right of her neck, fully this time, before once again stepping back behind her.
When her next shot barely made the left side of the target he had his answer: she was playing him, seeing how far he was willing to push her - and be pushed in return. He returned to the left side of her neck and pressed parted lips against the side of her throat, running his tongue along the line of exposed skin.
She gasped at the hot contact and her trigger finger twitched to fire instinctively, thoroughly distracted by his actions. He flicked his gaze to the target and saw a fresh bullet hole through the head of the target, an utter fluke of a shot that ended up perfectly placed.
He removed his lips from her and pulled off her ear protectors. "Nice shot, Wash."
"Sir, that wasn't... I didn't..." She said, putting the gun down and pulling the blindfold from her eyes to stare accusingly at the target. "I wasn't aiming for the head."
"Got it though." He grinned. "Think you win."
"Seriously?" She said, looking up at him in disbelief.
He nodded, smiling brightly. "What can I say? Guess I'll have to try harder next time."
Her mouth twitched at the implication. "Guess so, sir."
#
His hands and lips had tingled for the rest of the day. When she'd grinned at him on her way home that evening, his traitorous tongue nearly asked if she could still feel his touch on her too.
It was probably for the best that he didn't.