[There's a look on her face that seems to say she knows it's a bullshit answer. But it's not a bullshit answer she's going to press him on. Especially when she can continue to rib him about the eggs.] I did specify drown. Some tabasco for flavor is great on eggs. But if you bring it anywhere near the pancakes, I'm kicking you out.
[She can't help but grin at that, but she still shifts her attention back to the task at hand. Her expression turns thoughtful as she lifts the gun so she can aim it.] Adjustments on my stance? I can tell I'm going to feel the kick like this.
[He's glad for the distraction offered by Karen lifting the Mossberg; there's still time he doesn't want to make here and now for that tree. And if she ever makes him pancakes he is definitely putting tabasco on them - but that's filed away for a nebulous future he can't quite trust in yet.
Frank steps behind her. He's intentional, here: fingers first, at her hips, before his body closes most of the gap between them. His hands slide up the outer edge of her shoulder blades until he can tilt her right shoulder back against his chest at a minimal angle.] Don't stand against the kick. You're not a wall. [Right hand reaches, grazing the underside of her lifted arm to adjust the stock up a little higher, more snug, more a part of her.
He inhales, slow. His exhale presses against the back of her neck.] You're not fighting it. Breathe out as you pull the trigger.
[Well, that's just unreasonably intimate for the situation. Her head turns a bit when his fingers land lightly on her hips, and there's nothing to be done about the way she feels it like a bolt of lightning up her spine. But she knows better than to get too distracted with a gun in her hand, so she turns her head back to look forward.
And she trusts him implicitly, so there's no resistance to those careful adjustments. Just a gentle give as she settles in to the new position. And tries valiantly to ignore the way his breath on the back of her neck sends a shiver back down her spine. She considers a little bite of snark for the comment about breathing out. But it's good advice, given the heft of the gun in her hands.
So she draws a breath in and let it out slowly as she squeezes the trigger. She misses the plate entirely, but she can hear when it hits the trunk behind the tree she's aiming it. She makes a face.] Stay put. I'm going to get it.
[She's not wrong; the gun has a kick. The easiest way to demonstrate the position that won't leave her with bruises is to have her feel it, not imitate it. Frank's done the same with cadets - when he liked them enough. So maybe it's a reasonable intimacy, with an unreasonable side of just having shared a kiss that was a helluva lot more of something than the brush or two of lips to cheek that their past has allowed.
Okay... maybe the breath to the back of Karen's neck was unnecessary. Maybe he just wanted to smell her shampoo.
Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, Frank's watching her instead of the plate, but he hears the crack of wood pulping. He would have been surprised if she hit the first shot. Hell, he'll be surprised if she hits the plate before she empties the clip. What he's not surprised about is Karen's instance to continue.] Not going anywhere. You got seven more shots before reload.
Left foot forward. You brought it back. [This time he doesn't touch her.] Think of your feet being connected to your shoulders. Your whole body needs to take the recoil, yeah, not just your upper half. That's why the shot dragged to the right.
[Karen hums a sound of acknowledgment when he points out how many shots she has left. She'll keep that in mind. But she's taking a moment to readjust her grip, and she pauses when he goes on to make some suggestions for her stance.
There's a hint of a smile at her mouth as she turns to look over at him.] You're a pretty good teacher. [There's no surprise in it. He's always had patience in spades. It's just that he doesn't always let himself apply care to it. Doesn't mean that the care's not there. She's just stubborn enough to go looking for it.
With a breath, she turns back and shifts how she's standing based on his instruction. At a careful pace, she finishes the rest of the clip. Her aim is slowly improving with each shot, but she's still not near the plate. When she's done, she exhales again and shifts her grip on the gun so she can shake out her hand.] Jesus, I'm going to have to start doing push ups. How do I get the clip out?
[Doesn't always let himself apply care to patience. Shit, 'truer words' and all that. The care is there. It always had been. For his family, for his unit. For people who mean something; that Frank has very few of those left, well - he knows the hand he had in whittling the number down. He knows he focused on one side of the equation when the balance of his life went to hell. For a long time care felt like the best reason to build a wall, despite what Frank told Karen over a cup of coffee once upon a time.
Just happens that this woman didn't once stop trying to act on that terrible fucking advice. And just maybe, he owes her.
Wants to owe her.
Frank laughs.] Nah, you'll be fine. Just there, left of the trigger. [A small button, placed for maximum efficiency. There's a ruthlessness to guns that Frank's always understood. Good guns, you don't even need to take your hand from firing position in order to reload. He checks the spread of her shots as he reaches for another clip.] Might wanna roll that shoulder, though. Joint'll be sore tomorrow, even without bruises. [He manages a lopsided smile. Her shoulder starts barking abuse now and they'll be leaving with a new plate for the shelf.
For now, he finds himself content with that idea. Just to have had this feels like he won something - and that something has nothing to do with shooting anything.]
[Karen is stubborn. Notoriously stubborn, even. Sometimes she thinks she subconsciously looks for the hardest path to walk. Because she relishes the hard work, and that moment she has a break through. When the pieces finally start to fall into place. Maybe it's no wonder then that she's never managed to turn her back on Frank. It helps too that she's always been absolutely certain that he's worth the work. Every argument, every bruise, every drop of blood. She's not sure okay would be possible at all without that uphill climb.
And she can't help but laugh a little as she shifts the gun in hand so she can release the clip. Offers it out to him to trade for the full one.] That felt a little anticlimactic after smacking it in. [His advice on rolling her shoulder is good, so she follows it, carefully rolling it back three times with the fresh clip in hand. There's a glimmer of amusement in her eyes as she watches him.] Maybe I'm going to try to convince you to rub my shoulders later.
[With a grin, she repeats the gesture from earlier to smack the new clip into place. She shakes her hand out again before re-assuming her position earlier. She blows out a breath to steady herself.]
Maybe you'll try. [And maybe he will. But first she has to shoot. Frank doubts the AK is in their future today and that feels okay too. He knows how to push better than he knows how to breathe but standing with Karen here... hard not to breathe first. He won't forget what he is but they've made it this far and that has to count for something. It has to. Because if he's wrong...
He crosses his arms over his chest and tries to cram down the surety that everything goes wrong. The people who wanted him dead, wanted to make him a scapegoat, they're the ones in the ground. He can still feel each bullet that put them there. Schoonover, Wolf, Orange, Russo. His personal vendetta is over and if that hasn't earned him the right to breathe, if only a little, then there's no reason for him to still be here.] You got this.
Maybe I'm already working on my winning argument. [She's just teasing him good-naturedly. A counterpoint of lightness in a moment that could otherwise settle with a heavy weight. She knows what it means, that she's willing to try this. That it's more of a compromise than they've ever managed before. She also knows that there's a very real possibility this kind of knowledge might come in handy at some point with the danger her line of work brings.
But she focuses in, methodically working her way through the second clip. She still doesn't quite manage to nail that decorative plate, but she does get closer. She can see where the last two shots have made divots in the tree trunk near the plate.] I'm starting to feel a personal vendetta against that plate.
[Frank chuckles.] Not that I think you'd even need the two lawyers in your pocket to come up with that.
[Settling back, arms again crossed over chest, he watches Karen go through the second clip. She's still getting closer but improvement has slowed by the time the last round is fired. Frank wets his lips.] Alright. Trust me, [he says before reaching over her shoulder to flip on the safety before walking past her.
He goes back to the crate and picks out a small crystal container, opening the lid to smell the inside of it as he picks his way over to the tree. The plate is tucked under his arm and he walks a few paces further on before setting the crystal on the tree instead, a difference place, a different height. Carrying the plate he heads back to Karen. He can tell she's starting to stiffen up, could see annoyance in the set of her body before she gave it air. And there's lessons about feelings and adrenaline affecting a shot... but not for today. Frank just nods at the new target as puts the plate in the foam of the hardcase and pulls new a fresh clip.] Again. [She might have hit the plate, but he's pretty sure she can hit the crystal, despite it being a smaller target.]
You sure? Foggy would relish the opportunity. [Karen sounds amused by the thought, because she can absolutely see Foggy going all in on drafting an opening statement. Matt would doubtlessly feel weird about it, but that really just brings her back around to her thought about looking the two of them in a room until they get all the bullshit out.
It goes without saying that she trusts him, though. So she lowers the gun once he flips the safety on. Watches with a faintly puzzled look that slowly fades into a smile as he trades the plate out for a much smaller crystal container.] I appreciate your faith in me. Let me see that plate for a second first.
[Reaching out, she takes the plate from him and promptly tosses it like frisbee so it shatters against a different tree. Vendetta resolved.
The smile is lingering as she glances over at him and lifts one shoulder in a shrug as if to say what can you do? Turning back, she sets herself to the task of swapping out the empty clip for a new one.] Smaller target, huh?
Not sure Nelson would want a second crack. [He and Red have been in rooms. It hasn't helped further anything.
Frank watches the plate shatter against a tree and has background thoughts for aim and force that he shoves away in favor of raising his eyebrows. Either she's a frisbeegolf champ or he hadn't been wrong about the tension pulling her shots. He snorts as an answer to the look Karen gives over her shoulder. Crosses his arms again.] Smaller baggage.
[She'll have to learn to shoot with baggage but muscle memory comes first. He'd watched her shots narrow, and then circle. She has this.]
He might surprise you. [That's the Foggy Nelson special, after all.
Shattering the plate is less about her being a frisbeegolf champ and more about it being hard to miss a tree in a forest at so close a distance. That, and plates are spectacularly fragile. She'd certainly accidentally dropped enough of them working as a waitress at the family diner to know that hurling one at a tree would get the job done. She can't tell if the comment about smaller baggage is a shooting term or a joke. Which is why she answers with a,] that feels like a statement that could have some veiled meaning.
[Even though she's not going to contest it. She's certainly got plenty of baggage.
So she gets herself back into position, taking a deep breath to re-center herself. It takes four shots, but she finally nails that crystal container. She lets out a triumphant sort of ha!] There we go.
Frank's face softens into a pleased smile, and he clucks his tongue around a laugh for the shattered crystal.] Hot shot indeed, lookit you. See now I'd say try for the plate, but... [He chuckles.] I switched it out because you were getting hung up on it, you know. Leaning in. After your body knows how this gun feels you'll be able to shoot past that, but now? It was just bound to screw you up.
[Karen lobs the joke back at him, grinning as she sets the safety back on and lowers the gun so she can turn and hand it back over to him. Yeah, she's definitely going to take a moment to stretch her shoulder. She's still smiling a little when she listens to him talk. It doesn't surprise her that he noticed her getting hung up, or that he knows her well enough to call out exactly why she got stuck on it. There's something nice about it, though. In being known by the person you have the same sort of understanding of.
Which is why it doesn't escape her attention that this may well be the most relaxed she's ever seen him.] Well, I've got a good teacher. Even if he made fun of my redneck shooting range at first. [It's lighthearted, joking a bit. Offering that compliment with a deflection in the hopes he'll actually let it sink in.]
[Frank knows he's a good teacher, in the right context. He was a good leader, too. Beyond his control or not he still blames himself for the men lost in Kandahar. He knew better. He holds onto it. You teach people and you claim responsibility. For him the compliment is double-edged.
Protecting Karen means opening her up to the possibility of more danger. He's doing it because he understands that she's determined to put herself there regardless of him. Way he sees it, the compliment's hers.] Oh I will still make fun of that. I am always gonna make fun of that, sweetheart.
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[She can't help but grin at that, but she still shifts her attention back to the task at hand. Her expression turns thoughtful as she lifts the gun so she can aim it.] Adjustments on my stance? I can tell I'm going to feel the kick like this.
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Frank steps behind her. He's intentional, here: fingers first, at her hips, before his body closes most of the gap between them. His hands slide up the outer edge of her shoulder blades until he can tilt her right shoulder back against his chest at a minimal angle.] Don't stand against the kick. You're not a wall. [Right hand reaches, grazing the underside of her lifted arm to adjust the stock up a little higher, more snug, more a part of her.
He inhales, slow. His exhale presses against the back of her neck.] You're not fighting it. Breathe out as you pull the trigger.
[Frank steps back.]
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And she trusts him implicitly, so there's no resistance to those careful adjustments. Just a gentle give as she settles in to the new position. And tries valiantly to ignore the way his breath on the back of her neck sends a shiver back down her spine. She considers a little bite of snark for the comment about breathing out. But it's good advice, given the heft of the gun in her hands.
So she draws a breath in and let it out slowly as she squeezes the trigger. She misses the plate entirely, but she can hear when it hits the trunk behind the tree she's aiming it. She makes a face.] Stay put. I'm going to get it.
[Karen doesn't know how to half ass anything.]
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Okay... maybe the breath to the back of Karen's neck was unnecessary. Maybe he just wanted to smell her shampoo.
Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, Frank's watching her instead of the plate, but he hears the crack of wood pulping. He would have been surprised if she hit the first shot. Hell, he'll be surprised if she hits the plate before she empties the clip. What he's not surprised about is Karen's instance to continue.] Not going anywhere. You got seven more shots before reload.
Left foot forward. You brought it back. [This time he doesn't touch her.] Think of your feet being connected to your shoulders. Your whole body needs to take the recoil, yeah, not just your upper half. That's why the shot dragged to the right.
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There's a hint of a smile at her mouth as she turns to look over at him.] You're a pretty good teacher. [There's no surprise in it. He's always had patience in spades. It's just that he doesn't always let himself apply care to it. Doesn't mean that the care's not there. She's just stubborn enough to go looking for it.
With a breath, she turns back and shifts how she's standing based on his instruction. At a careful pace, she finishes the rest of the clip. Her aim is slowly improving with each shot, but she's still not near the plate. When she's done, she exhales again and shifts her grip on the gun so she can shake out her hand.] Jesus, I'm going to have to start doing push ups. How do I get the clip out?
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Just happens that this woman didn't once stop trying to act on that terrible fucking advice. And just maybe, he owes her.
Wants to owe her.
Frank laughs.] Nah, you'll be fine. Just there, left of the trigger. [A small button, placed for maximum efficiency. There's a ruthlessness to guns that Frank's always understood. Good guns, you don't even need to take your hand from firing position in order to reload. He checks the spread of her shots as he reaches for another clip.] Might wanna roll that shoulder, though. Joint'll be sore tomorrow, even without bruises. [He manages a lopsided smile. Her shoulder starts barking abuse now and they'll be leaving with a new plate for the shelf.
For now, he finds himself content with that idea. Just to have had this feels like he won something - and that something has nothing to do with shooting anything.]
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And she can't help but laugh a little as she shifts the gun in hand so she can release the clip. Offers it out to him to trade for the full one.] That felt a little anticlimactic after smacking it in. [His advice on rolling her shoulder is good, so she follows it, carefully rolling it back three times with the fresh clip in hand. There's a glimmer of amusement in her eyes as she watches him.] Maybe I'm going to try to convince you to rub my shoulders later.
[With a grin, she repeats the gesture from earlier to smack the new clip into place. She shakes her hand out again before re-assuming her position earlier. She blows out a breath to steady herself.]
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He crosses his arms over his chest and tries to cram down the surety that everything goes wrong. The people who wanted him dead, wanted to make him a scapegoat, they're the ones in the ground. He can still feel each bullet that put them there. Schoonover, Wolf, Orange, Russo. His personal vendetta is over and if that hasn't earned him the right to breathe, if only a little, then there's no reason for him to still be here.] You got this.
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But she focuses in, methodically working her way through the second clip. She still doesn't quite manage to nail that decorative plate, but she does get closer. She can see where the last two shots have made divots in the tree trunk near the plate.] I'm starting to feel a personal vendetta against that plate.
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[Settling back, arms again crossed over chest, he watches Karen go through the second clip. She's still getting closer but improvement has slowed by the time the last round is fired. Frank wets his lips.] Alright. Trust me, [he says before reaching over her shoulder to flip on the safety before walking past her.
He goes back to the crate and picks out a small crystal container, opening the lid to smell the inside of it as he picks his way over to the tree. The plate is tucked under his arm and he walks a few paces further on before setting the crystal on the tree instead, a difference place, a different height. Carrying the plate he heads back to Karen. He can tell she's starting to stiffen up, could see annoyance in the set of her body before she gave it air. And there's lessons about feelings and adrenaline affecting a shot... but not for today. Frank just nods at the new target as puts the plate in the foam of the hardcase and pulls new a fresh clip.] Again. [She might have hit the plate, but he's pretty sure she can hit the crystal, despite it being a smaller target.]
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It goes without saying that she trusts him, though. So she lowers the gun once he flips the safety on. Watches with a faintly puzzled look that slowly fades into a smile as he trades the plate out for a much smaller crystal container.] I appreciate your faith in me. Let me see that plate for a second first.
[Reaching out, she takes the plate from him and promptly tosses it like frisbee so it shatters against a different tree. Vendetta resolved.
The smile is lingering as she glances over at him and lifts one shoulder in a shrug as if to say what can you do? Turning back, she sets herself to the task of swapping out the empty clip for a new one.] Smaller target, huh?
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Frank watches the plate shatter against a tree and has background thoughts for aim and force that he shoves away in favor of raising his eyebrows. Either she's a frisbeegolf champ or he hadn't been wrong about the tension pulling her shots. He snorts as an answer to the look Karen gives over her shoulder. Crosses his arms again.] Smaller baggage.
[She'll have to learn to shoot with baggage but muscle memory comes first. He'd watched her shots narrow, and then circle. She has this.]
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Shattering the plate is less about her being a frisbeegolf champ and more about it being hard to miss a tree in a forest at so close a distance. That, and plates are spectacularly fragile. She'd certainly accidentally dropped enough of them working as a waitress at the family diner to know that hurling one at a tree would get the job done. She can't tell if the comment about smaller baggage is a shooting term or a joke. Which is why she answers with a,] that feels like a statement that could have some veiled meaning.
[Even though she's not going to contest it. She's certainly got plenty of baggage.
So she gets herself back into position, taking a deep breath to re-center herself. It takes four shots, but she finally nails that crystal container. She lets out a triumphant sort of ha!] There we go.
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Frank's face softens into a pleased smile, and he clucks his tongue around a laugh for the shattered crystal.] Hot shot indeed, lookit you. See now I'd say try for the plate, but... [He chuckles.] I switched it out because you were getting hung up on it, you know. Leaning in. After your body knows how this gun feels you'll be able to shoot past that, but now? It was just bound to screw you up.
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[Karen lobs the joke back at him, grinning as she sets the safety back on and lowers the gun so she can turn and hand it back over to him. Yeah, she's definitely going to take a moment to stretch her shoulder. She's still smiling a little when she listens to him talk. It doesn't surprise her that he noticed her getting hung up, or that he knows her well enough to call out exactly why she got stuck on it. There's something nice about it, though. In being known by the person you have the same sort of understanding of.
Which is why it doesn't escape her attention that this may well be the most relaxed she's ever seen him.] Well, I've got a good teacher. Even if he made fun of my redneck shooting range at first. [It's lighthearted, joking a bit. Offering that compliment with a deflection in the hopes he'll actually let it sink in.]
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Protecting Karen means opening her up to the possibility of more danger. He's doing it because he understands that she's determined to put herself there regardless of him. Way he sees it, the compliment's hers.] Oh I will still make fun of that. I am always gonna make fun of that, sweetheart.