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Shepard lowered the rifle—an older model, not one of the new shiny toys Cerberus had provided—and removed the ear protection, studying the holographic target. Then she turned, raising an eyebrow at the sight of him. “See something you like, Massani?”
Zaeed snorted. “Girlie, I was puttin’ bullets between someone’s eyes before you were born. No.” She was an adequate shot, capable of getting the job done, but…. “And, for Christ’s sake, who taught you to shoot? If you’re the best the Alliance is turnin’ out, it’s all gone to hell.” If he praised her, she’d get as big a head as that ornery son of a bitch in the cockpit.
She didn’t flinch or protest. Not that she would; military background, made ‘em calm and used to being insulted and yelled at. She’d rifle-butted krogan, put herself in Vakarian’s sights, and shouted him down, all without a twitch. Fucking hell, half the time she left her helmet in the shuttle. Even if she was a crap shot, Shepard had guts.
“I was dead for two years. The muscle memory’s off,” she admitted. “I practice.”
“Bullshit. You’re doing it goddamned wrong.”
Shepard just snorted as she ejected the clip and loaded another. “Yeah?”
“That rifle is probably as old as your daddy, for one. You wouldn’t know how to handle it. Get yourself one of those stupid shiny things the boss bought.”
She tightened her hand possessively on the stock and shook her head. “This model was Alliance standard-issue for decades. I went to every arms dealer on the Citadel looking for one. The ‘stupid shiny things’ can stay in the gun rack. I don’t like them.”
He grinned. Maybe she did know her guns after all. “Thought you were more than just a pretty face, Shepard. They’ve got no kick, those things.”
“Throws off the shot. Gimme one of these any day.”
“Right. Go on, line up another one. See if we can’t whip you back into shape.”
“You’re offering to—”
“Shepard, stop talking and start shooting.”