Work Text:
Breathe. Pull.
Breathe. Pull.
Breathe. Pull.
Breathe. Pull.
Breathe. Pull.
Breathe. Pull.
Safety on. Release. Check cylinder.
Evan Buckley exhaled a final time and let the physical tension flow out of his body starting from his head down to his feet before gently setting his revolver on the shelf in front of him. He slipped his safety glasses off and placed them next to the gun, leaving his ear protection on as that was non-negotiable with the range rules.
Next he turned his attention down range and eyeballed the groupings in the target he had sent out to the furthest setting of 25 yards. Rather than waste a target he had reloaded twice on the one currently out there and he wasn’t thrilled with his second set. He had gone for body shots this time and missed the right shoulder.
It had been a shit six weeks since Abby had headed to Europe. They were in a disgusting, out of the blue, heat wave. Three people at the station had been injured; not badly, but bad enough that Buck, as the still technically a probie, had needed to cancel the four days off he had scheduled - which would have given him a full eight days off with the way their schedules fell. That meant that he was currently standing in the middle of the LA Gun Club, a few miles from Abby’s apartment, instead of standing in the middle of the Rockies in Colorado with some of his oldest friends camping and hiking Mount Elbert.
About the only thing that was going well at the moment for him was the fact that he had booked flight insurance so he didn’t have to eat the five hundred in round trip flights and that his graduation to full firefighter was on-track for next month.
Thus the Gun Club; his old boss at the ranch in Wyoming used to tell him to take his stress out on a target and let it leave his body like a bullet leaves a gun. The sound and power of the weapon made for a good way to visualize his stress dissipating.
“Guess it’s a good thing you’re not a cop Buckley,” he heard from slightly behind him, as a light tap on his shoulder accompanied the voice to get his attention through the ear protection. He managed to not jump at the surprise of the action.
Slowly Buck turned with a tight expression to face the bane of his existence whenever he took time to go to the range, Jonathan Montgomery Paulson the Third, who was just as obnoxious as his name implied he would be. For some reason the slightly younger man was always there whenever Buck was and always wanted to talk to him and touch him. It was getting weirder and more annoying the longer it went on.
“Guess so. And you’re lucky I saw you in the glass,” he replied letting his annoyance leak out in his tone slightly.
“I waited until you put the gun down,” the other man shot back as though startling people around loaded handguns wasn’t a dangerous idea.
Buck just rolled his eyes and moved the conversation along, as the sooner the kid got to brag the sooner Buck wouldn’t have to speak with him anymore, “How are you today Jon?
“I’m good. I’ve got an interview for an Academy spot finally,” Paulson explained, grinning brightly, and for some reason leaning towards him.
Buck shuffled back a few steps and nodded; but also prayed to every deity he did not believe in that his horror and disbelief didn’t show on his face at that and just said, “Oh really? You took your LAPD civil service exam two years ago now?”
“Just about that,” Jon agreed, grinning brighter. “But I’m not surprised it took this long. It’s not like I’m coming in from the military. It’s so nice you remembered that though.”
“Of course,” Buck replied, nodding, slightly surprised that the man had any self-awareness of his odds to actually get hired by the LAPD; unless the recruiters were looking for someone to put on a poster since his face was about all he had going for him. “Listen, I really hate to cut this short but I’ve only got a half hour left on my lane time. So, I’ll have to catch you next time?” he added, gesturing towards the cases at Paulson was carrying, hoping it indicated he was leaving and not arriving.
“Right, yes, see you around Buckley,” the younger blonde responded looking embarrassed and disappointed for some reason as he walked off.
Buck just shrugged and quickly turned back to his lane before anyone else could interrupt him, pulling out another target and flipping the switch to bring the old set forward to him so he could change them out.
“Buck?” he heard again, this time much more muffled as the person hadn’t raised their voice much, and he suppressed a groan.
He glanced behind him and was shocked to see Athena Grant standing there with her kids, holding a lock box, looking just as shocked as she stared back at him.
“Sergeant Grant,” Buck responded, half-stammering. “Hi?”
“What are you doing here?” she asked, raising her voice slightly this time as all four of them were wearing ear protection due to standing in the shooting gallery.
“Shooting?” he responded, trailing off, because it was fairly obvious what he was doing. “You?” the second interruption of his once a month stress relief solo activity had him feeling a little snippy, so he asked her just as obvious a question as she asked him.
“Gun safety,” she responded, shrugging slightly. “The kids aren’t allowed to use the LAPD range. But since I have a gun in the house, every six months we come here and they get reminded this is not a toy,” she explained and lifted the lock box that would be holding her gun due to the range rules. “This is the last place I’d expect to see you though,” she added, looking incredulous.
Buck sighed and rubbed his face before answering honestly, “You don’t exactly know me all that well Sergeant."
“Fair,” she agreed. “It’s still a bit of a surprise,” she insisted. “And that’s one hell of a gun for a newbie.”
Now Buck did roll his eyes, visibly, more than a little annoyed with the assumption, “It’s my gun actually.”
“A revolver?” she questioned with a laugh. “Were you a fan of Cowboys and Indians when you were a kid?”
“No,” Buck replied with gritted teeth; unfortunately, it was an exceptionally stupid idea to ignore a cop questioning you about anything at a shooting range so he had to wait out the semi-interrogation here. And he wasn’t exactly eagerly anticipating the secondary one he’ll get after she tells Hen. “Actually, it’s a Ruger Super Redhawk Alaskan. It takes a .44 Remington Magnum shell. And I’ve had it since I was twenty-one; I got it in Wyoming when I was working on a ranch.”
The Sergeant stopped chuckling when he spoke and finally seemed to consider his words fully for a moment before she responded again, “I guess that makes sense then.”
“Yup. I didn’t really relish being anything’s lunch when I was out riding and working on fences. Admittedly, now it’s just a nice stress relief activity I can do on my own. It’s locked up twenty-four-seven unless I go camping in the deep back-country. And even then I’d prefer my rifle. Not that California makes that easy to do. Probably my least favorite part about this state.”
He almost laughed at the stunned expression on her face at that last sentence but decided to cut off any further interrogation, “I’d also appreciate it if this didn’t go any further? I really don’t need Hen to get, inappropriately, nervous that the golden retriever is playing with guns after his girlfriend went on vacation. Or for her to think I’m some NRA gun nut; cause I’m not.”
Grant visibly cringed and nodded, “How’re you doing with that honey? I heard Abby left.”
Buck stiffened, since he was fairly certain they had just established she didn’t know him that well yet to start asking questions like that, and shuffled his feet before answering, “She went on vacation. And I’ve got about twenty minutes and twenty rounds to go through before my time’s up. So I’ll see you around right?”
“Right,” Athena agreed and herded her kids, whose names Buck should probably learn at some point, towards a lane further down.
He quickly turned back to his lane, switched out the targets and sent it out to the furthest setting again. He slipped six bullets into each of the holes in the revolver’s cylinder, making sure it was clasped closed properly before setting it down again.
Eye protection back on, ear protection straightened.
He picked his trusty revolver back up, unlocked the safety and inhaled slowly.
Breathe. Pull.
Breathe. Pull…