[ The bullet slams into the tree in another blast of smoke and splinters. She was hitting her target before, sure, but this time, the shift in her expression informs him far better of the improvement than her words. His answering smile is bright, with none of the trepidation that seems to hold back Emma’s.
(There was a time where he must have felt as she does, he thinks, days when the weight of his sins cast everything in shadow, made the little pinpoints of brightness in life seem dull and dark. He’s learned since then to take the good with the bad, and also learned that a few bottles of whiskey make the sharp edge of reality that much easier to tolerate.)
Approvingly, ] That’s how it’s done.
[ He answers her compliment with a brief tip of his head and a wink, though he knows from her tone of voice that this was strictly observation. He is damn good at what he does – a need to survive made sure of that – but his skill came at a price.
They say the nightmares never go away, he had told her. Faraday was living proof of that.
It’s her thanks that catches him by surprise for the second time today, and it stands naked on his face for the span of a breath. He’s unused to thanks, but that’s probably because he rarely does anything in need of thanks. Times being what they are means he acts selfishly more often than not.
And Emma Cullen seems a proud woman and didn’t seem too fond of him, besides. Must be her upbringing that obliges her to offer a word in gratitude – probably the same reason why she seems compelled her to call him “mister,” when he’s hardly a man deserving of respect. ]
You’re a fair shot. And you ain’t been trainin’ with the others. [ He says it with a quick shrug of his shoulders, eyes fixed on their target and hand resting on the butt of his favored revolver. A grimness in his voice as he continues, ] We’re gonna need you in the fight.
no subject
(There was a time where he must have felt as she does, he thinks, days when the weight of his sins cast everything in shadow, made the little pinpoints of brightness in life seem dull and dark. He’s learned since then to take the good with the bad, and also learned that a few bottles of whiskey make the sharp edge of reality that much easier to tolerate.)
Approvingly, ] That’s how it’s done.
[ He answers her compliment with a brief tip of his head and a wink, though he knows from her tone of voice that this was strictly observation. He is damn good at what he does – a need to survive made sure of that – but his skill came at a price.
They say the nightmares never go away, he had told her. Faraday was living proof of that.
It’s her thanks that catches him by surprise for the second time today, and it stands naked on his face for the span of a breath. He’s unused to thanks, but that’s probably because he rarely does anything in need of thanks. Times being what they are means he acts selfishly more often than not.
And Emma Cullen seems a proud woman and didn’t seem too fond of him, besides. Must be her upbringing that obliges her to offer a word in gratitude – probably the same reason why she seems compelled her to call him “mister,” when he’s hardly a man deserving of respect. ]
You’re a fair shot. And you ain’t been trainin’ with the others. [ He says it with a quick shrug of his shoulders, eyes fixed on their target and hand resting on the butt of his favored revolver. A grimness in his voice as he continues, ] We’re gonna need you in the fight.