Photographs of Graves

I had, in my high school days, been obsessed with two actors: Jodie Foster and Summer Glau. Because of their example I had taken up weekly visits to my local shooting range, learning to shoot with my dad using mostly a Glock 22, the standard weapon for a police officer. But, with the coming of college, my years of playing with guns came to an end, and it had been almost two years since I'd shot a weapon. Still, even though I was rusty, I never was a bad shot.

One day Graves took me to the shooting range that they have at the local police academy. He went there twice a week to show that he was at least proficient with a firearm before sending him back out into the field, and I think he brought me along because he wanted to impress me. I'll admit, it was pretty sexy when he slipped on his ear protectors and pulled out that little black, so familiar Glock 22.

At least, it was sexy until he shot.

Graves' aim with a gun was not comparable to his aim with a camera lens. They weren't even close. While Graves could wield a camera like it was a pistol, his proficiency with an actual pistol was... lacking, to say the least. Actually, I'm almost surprised he hit the dummy with that last shot. From fifty meters away, his bullet clipped the dummy in the upper arm as it whizzed past. For his sake I hoped he was aiming at the target on its chest.

Call me what you want. A bad girlfriend, a terrible person in general, whatever you like. I probably deserve it. But I couldn't help laughing. Quite loudly, actually. When he looked at me, realized what I was doing, he genuinely resembled a kicked puppy. I felt bad, I really did, but I just couldn't help it. When he took off his ear protectors I tried to stifle my laughter, but it didn't work too well.

“Hey, don't laugh at me, it's harder than it looks,” he said defensively, putting down the gun after clicking on its safety.

“Graves, I'm sorry, but you're awful. That was just bad.”

“Well I'd like to see you do any better, smartass.”

I looked at him, raising an eyebrow. I had forgotten he didn't know I could shoot, or at least used to be able to. I glanced back, looking to see if there was anyone else around. I'd feel really bad if I upstaged him in front of a friend or something.

“Would you really like me to?”

“Sure,” he smiled at me impishly, handing me the gun gingerly and stepping back from the little shooting station. I pulled the ear protectors off his shoulders and slid them onto my own head.

“Wait a sec, Murph,” he instructed, shouting so I could hear him. “The first thing you do is check the safety...”

I tuned him out, picking up the gun and smiling. I felt like I was in high school again. I clicked off the safety, took a solid stance, held the gun in front of me with firm arms to dampen any recoil, aimed with one eye closed, and pulled the trigger.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

They weren't perfect shots. I wasn't expecting them to be, but I still felt a little disappointed. But my first bullet had pierced the dummy in the second ring outside the bullet at its heart, my second bullet right by the first, and the third right in the forehead. Boom, headshot.

“Yeah!” I cheered, putting the gun down and throwing my arms into the air triumphantly. I turned toward Graves and took off my ear protectors, smiling.

I couldn't tell if he looked wounded or surprised. His ego had obviously taken a punch, but he seemed almost reproachful. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall of the shooting cell. I blinked at him, smile vanishing.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on. If we fight because I can shoot better than you that'll just be sad. Give me some credit.”

“I don't think your ego needs it.”

“You're just upset that I'm a better shot.”

I mimicked his pose, folding my arms over my chest and swinging my weight onto one hip. He stared me down for a moment but, my unfaltering gaze winning out, sighed, looking away.

“Yeah, you were alright.”

I grinned at him, sticking out my tongue. He snorted, rubbing the back of his neck. He still looked a little dowager.

“Do you want shooting lessons?” I offered, picking up the gun.

“Please, let me keep some of my masculinity in tact.”

“It's not really that big of a deal, is it?”

“I'm supposed to be the hunter and provider. It's in my genetic code.”

He sighed again, but he did smile at last. I punched him amiably in the arm.

“Hey, I can't cook for shit and I was always a crap babysitter. Want to trade?”

“Please, just because I'll give you anything doesn't mean I'll chop off my dick and hand it to you on a silver platter.”

“Chauvinist.”

“No, I think I'm just old fashioned. I like holding doors open, getting girls flowers, that sort of thing.”

He smiled boyishly, tucking his hands in his pockets. “See? Chivalry isn't dead.”

“If that's the case, I'm noticing a supreme lack of flowers throughout our relationship.”

“I'm also cheap. Call it a conflict of interests.”

We regarded each other for a moment, him still smiling and me scowling, but eventually I couldn't keep a straight face anymore and we both started laughing. He patted my back and rested his chin on the crown of my head as I turned, clicking the safety off of the gun before setting it back in its box, locking it shut, and putting it back on the gun rack with the ear protectors. Then, laughing, we walked out the door hand in hand.

“So, where did you learn to shoot like that?” Graves asked once we were down the street, squeezing my fingers. I shrugged.

“It was just a thing my dad and I did on the weekends. We had a shooting range down the street and I needed something to help me blow steam in high school.”

“So... did you go hunting? Get squirrels, deer?”

“Nah, that wasn't our thing. We didn't shoot at living targets.”

Graves nodded, then turned to me, smiling.

“Hey, want to come with me to the Middle East? You could be my bodyguard,” Graves asked. His tone was teasing, but I could tell under the joke that he was serious. I smiled, but shook my head.

“I'm not allowed, it's not part of my internship program. Besides, I'm pretty sure that if I went with you you'd be too worried about me to give your work your all. The job comes first.”

Graves seemed to almost wince. He nodded, glancing away.

“It was just a thought.”

“I know. A good one.”

I bumped against his shoulder, smiling. He bumped me back. We laughed. I didn't want to see that expression on his face: I didn't want him to look so guilty for something we all knew that we had to do. It was part of the job description. Thou shalt not stay in one place – not for family, not for friends, not for love. We were nomads in our own regards. Those we let into our hearts had to either come with us or accept that we wouldn't be there all the time.

It was a difficult sacrifice that I still wasn't sure about it. Even though I'd chosen this life for myself, I never considered how hard it would be to be on the receiving end.

“Hey, Graves,” I nudged him again, returning the smile to my face that had slipped away in the midst of my thoughts. He glanced down at me with those blue eyes, laugh lines crinkling up around his eyes. He nudged me back.

“What, Murph?”

“Love you.”

He smiled more genuinely. A genuine smile isn't just happy, you know: it contains a whole scope of emotions, from joy to regret to sorrow to bitterness. It's all in there. It softened his face. He paused on the corner by the coffee shop, disentangling his fingers from mine so he could smooth my curls out of my face. He kissed my forehead, then wrapped his arms around me with a tight squeeze.

“Love you too, Murph.”

Of course, any semblance of a moment that we were having was pretty well ruined by my phone going off, vibrating against Graves' thigh from my front pocket. He looked down, made a face, and asked, “Is that a phone vibrating or are you just happy to see me?”

I snorted – I'm just the soul of ladylike grace – and pulled the phone out of my pocket, AC/DC's Shoot to Thrill filling the air. I glanced at the caller ID before pressing the answer button.

“You just ruined a moment, Zoe. I don't have a lot of those.”

“You'll get over it.”

“What do you want, woman?”

I could hear her smile on the other end of the line. “I've got a surprise for you.”

Oh boy.