Sure, Cassidy is good when heâs drafted into blackwatch, but itâs all brute force and instinct; tension that will wear him away in the long run
And Reyes doesnât care, doesnât have the time to, really. Not when it still works and his own body allows him to disregard technique and finesse- they can learn later, now they have to do
So itâs Ana who steps in, her legs folded under her and rifle rested against her knees, her hands strong and nimble while she cleans it. Movements like water and waves. âLower your shoulders or youâll wreck them.â
The end of his barrel and his cigar send twin towers of smoke into the air and he has to look up at her, perched over the training range. âCapân?â
âAnd stop doing spins. It adds flair but lowers accuracy, and this is no joke or fair.â She is looking at him in a way few people will ever do again, makes him want to bristle at critique and yet making him unable to.
It carries him, through smoke and gunfire and heartbreak and decay. Her hands over his while Peacekeeper clicks apart, the nooks and crannies you have to reach, or dirt will build up.
âYou make it look so easy,â he says and feels equal parts pride and shame at how raw the words sound.
Her face moves, lines that werenât there a year ago, a month, a week. She hands back his gun. âYou shouldnât have to fight this hard.â
And then he is alone and she is only alive when he whips around in empty buildings thinking he saw something glint off a scope on a rooftop.
Mostly, he doesnât think about it, but sometimes he does.
A shot that lands exactly where he wants it and suddenly she is breathing close to his ear. Proud and sad and ingrained into every muscle that makes it possible. He visits her grave only once and finds she isnât there half as much as she is in his hands, the slope of his shoulders; his body made a graveyard by her kindness
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