The stock of the M4 bucks against her shoulder. Dust billows as the round finds its mark and slices through the flimsy cardboard target. Spent brass tinkles around her feet.
She recognises the voice. For a moment she nearly doesn't do as she's told, just to spite him, but she can't afford to be that petty. Rules are there for a reason, and no matter what anyone says rules are not made to be broken. Bent maybe, but never broken. She angles the muzzle of the rifle down into the dirt, but doesn't meet his gaze as he unholsters his pistol and takes up position next to her.
"I'm not talking to you."
"I don't want you to talk. I just want you to listen."
She can't help but steal a sneaky sideways glance at him as he checks the magazine of his pistol. And God, does he ever look like what he is. Big, strong arms with lots of tattoos. Big, strong hands, the web of skin between his thumb and index finger callused from so many years of firing automatic weapons. God damn it, he even looks good with huge dark damp patches of sweat on his shirt.
Actually - he looks especially good when he's sweating. When he's working.
This might not be a combat situation, but he treats it as seriously as if it was. Hard training makes for easy combat, that's the SEAL philosophy. He told her that once, and she believes it as fully as he does. She admires him for it.
He swings the sidearm up and snaps off three shots, blowing off the cardboard target's jaw and then tearing out the imagined terrorist's brains through the back of his head. He can't have given himself more than half a second to adjust his aim.
OK, so she'll concede that she's impressed (albeit privately) but that doesn't stop her being pissed off at him.
"Don't fucking call me that, Rex. You know I hate it when you call me that."
He flashes her a grin. "I thought you weren't talking to me?"
Son of a bitch. He knew exactly what buttons to press and forced her to correct him out of pride.
"OK no, seriously. I'm sorry about earlier." He pauses for a second. "I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. It was...it wasn't cool that you tried to keep me in the dark, but I can understand why you did. The thing is..."
He hesitates, then holsters his pistol and turns to look at her.
"Yeah?" she prompts, without looking at him.
He sighs. "Kaid...I've been a real jerk to you, dude. I mean yeah, I was fucking worried about you, but it wasn't fair of me to treat you like...like a fucking kid. You ain't weak - in fact, you're one of the strongest people I know. And...I don't want you to get hurt, but that doesn't give me the right to...uh...you know, I just need to have, like...more confidence in you. You know? So, yeah. I'm sorry."
At long last she meets his gaze, setting her rifle down on the table and looking up at him with a sad smile on her face.
"God, you're a fucking idiot," she whispers as she hugs him.
From anyone else that might have sounded like an insult, but the way in which she says it is the tone of voice most people reserve for saying "I love you".
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