She was at least catching on.  Though he could see why she had been thrown out of Muggle Studies (she didn’t know he knew that, but… Archer had his ways – and knew when to hold out on things of that nature).  She was cheeky and challenging to what he was trying to tell her for her own good.  It was like they were back thirteen years and he was trying to teach her interrogation techniques, or at least advise her, she had always been stubborn and thought it should be her that was in control. 

When they had first started working together, when she was just training, he marveled at how a woman so small could think she was the boss from the moment she stepped in.  She had something to prove, he knew that, but it was never related to her size.  It was what she had seen and he could understand that, the first murder was always the hardest, harder if you had nothing to do to stop it from happening, which was her big thing back then – proving that she could.  Now she was just being cheeky and disregarding his educated instructions – he could see it in her eyes.

She desisted though and he relaxed a little, conversationally continuing his explanation of the way a firearm worked in terms that the woman could somewhat understand.  She appeared to be picking up at least some idea of what was going on and he nodded at her assertion that it was not as engaging as a magic duel.  “Well yes, but it’s like you have a wand automatically set to cast avada kedavra every time you flick it, not very effective if you want to have a good duel.  The purpose of the range is to keep up your aim and refine your skills.  No one wants to actually shoot anyone,” he pointed out with a curt nod.  He was actually doing a lot better than he thought he would.

He figured he might be frustrated and unable to teach her, since she was so… hopeless when it came to muggles, but she was getting it  -at least on a basic level.  He wasn’t trying to turn her into Annie Oakley, so that was fine.  “I would have taken you into the dueling arena,” he smirked at her, “but I was afraid you might kill me.” 

”I beg your pardon?” she said with tight features, indicative that he had pushed a button – this time, unintentionally. 

“…Like you want to right now.”  She did not seem pleased when he indicated he wanted her to get the stool, but glancing at the counters, they had to be at least four feet high and she would not be able to accurately fire – not to mention the fact he would wake up with a terrible back ache if he had to bend over like that to help her.  No, she needed to be on the stool and her reddened cheeks and abandonment of her courageous stand against the large man were enough to tell him she finally realized the necessity of the wooden stool. 

He didn’t think much of the accessories he added to himself, but when she put them on, he couldn’t help but smirk a little.  “They suit you well,” he complimented with that oh-so-cheeky grin he was used to using.  “I need you to stand on it, Ray,” he motioned to the stool and stood to the side, offering a hand to help her up, sizing them to be about the same height when she would be on top of the thing -  lucky, considering he wasn’t going wake up sore from trying to bend into a quarter of his height. 

When she was secure, he moved to her side and looked over at her, his arms out and holding the weapon, “Alright, see how I’m holding it?” his hands gripped firmly, his arms were relaxed, however, and he kept it steady.  “You need to be firm, but relaxed, if you’re too stiff you’re going to hurt yourself, but you can’t be lazy or you’ll end up shooting someone. Ready?”  He gave her a few seconds to prepare herself as well as him, aiming at the heart of the human shaped target, and Archer exerted a slow and steady pressure on the trigger.  Within a moment, the loud bang emitted from the weapon and the bullet flew quicker than either of them could see toward the target. 

He lowered his arms and sighed, he was a little off to the left.  He would explain it by the fact she as in the middle of the lane and he was to the side – he usually made the shot.  She wouldn’t know better though, and he smiled.  “You’re going to try. Okay?”

A hand extended out to her, palm up. Gray eyes consider it for a long moment, studying the patterns of the lines and creases. There had been a lot of that, tonight. Most people were afraid of invading Tamis Raynor’s personal space let alone come in physical contact. Even after fourteen years of working with Radley, she had to admit that there had not been much between them. She had pulled his ear from time to time and he had jostled her more than once in an argument … and there was the contact expected when they had dueled both as partners and adversaries. But that had been impersonal and in the line of duty. Somehow this was different.

There was no excuse in arguing standing on the stool when she had already brought it over. Finally, she placed her hand atop his, palm against palm. His was both rough and smooth at the same time, textured by calluses obtained through dueling, powerfully built but not harsh. Her skin was fairer and it seemed to further exaggerate the way his much larger hand dwarfed her daintier one. She considered her awareness of these details uncomfortably in the split second it took her to accept his aide onto the stool (it was the least he could do). It was not very wide, but Tamis was not very big. It would be manageable for a small jaunt of time. The petite woman was suddenly very proud for her prudence in wearing practical footwear. The plain, well broken-in boots had firm, steady soles and supportive cushioning and would relieve her of having to constantly maintain a balancing act. 

It was hard to look dignified when one was currently receiving a vertical booster by a block of wood but somehow she managed, smirking back at him, trying not to contemplate how absolutely humiliating this would look if anyone else came in. Humility and Tamis Raynor got on about as well as cats and dogs. He knew how to time his humor.

“You would have had a difficult time explaining the bruises the next day,” she agreed boldly to his assessment of a duel. There had been a time where he could wallop her in the arena and frequently had, but that had not been for a great many years. He had had an experience advantage. The pair had not, truly, tested their ability against one another in quite some time.

Arena dueling, she supposed was very much like shooting a gun in a range. While Aurors made a sport of it, the lethal purpose was to hone combat skills – no rational individual ever wanted to fire a spell maliciously at another individual, even if the adrenalin of the duel itself gave a rush, it was never a pleasant experience. But sometimes it was necessary and the skills to win such an encounter had be improved if one wanted to be the survivor. She might not approve of a device which only served to kill, but she could understand the rationale of the Range. She thought she could.

Her gaze followed Archer as he moved to the side, intrigued by her newfound vantage point. The foot plus difference was less exaggerated now, she was practically on eye level with him. He looked different when she was not peering up at him from an angle. It was not good or bad… it was just different. There were details she had not noticed before and that she should not be concentrating on now when he was trying to show her how to use the blasted contraption.

Something about being relaxed but not lazy – what an odd and complicated way to hold a gun, was that really necessary? It took two hands and it appeared as if he had one clasped over the other, but there were fingers everywhere and she was not exactly sure which ones belonged to which hand… was that the left or the right? Did he have to keep his index finger extended like that? No, she was not ready. Too late. The bang was unexpected and, she did not jump (Tamis Raynor after all was not easily startled and certainly did not jump), she would claim that she more flinched than anything else as a small… something was also expelled from the gun. That explained the headwear. Muggles were such unusual creatures.

Her eyes slid between the man-like target and back to Archer. How hard could that really be? “All right,” she agreed finally, eyeing the weapon and holding out a hand for it. She of course would not admit that she did not have the slightest clue as to how he had done what he had done with all that complicated handwork. Perhaps she could just wing it…. Raynor did not like seeming incompetent. It was part of the reason she avoided most things Muggle.

“Yeh, I wouldn’t want anyone to think I beat up a girl,” he smirked at her – twisting her words even though he fully knew what she meant.  She thought she could threaten him, but he wasn’t afraid.  She was slightly more intimidating when she was at the same level as he was, but he remembered all he would have to do was kick out the stool under her and that would save himself from anything she might want to do.  He also had to remember to brace himself every time he said something she was in prime position to tug his ear or hit himself upside his head.  Perhaps that was a bad idea.

It was too late for him to be able to call it off and say that they were leaving – he had already paid (Kendra would put it right on his account), and he was actually looking forward to teaching her.  Dropping his arms, Archer smirked at her, watching her as she took the gun and looked at it.  Though she tried to appear impassive, like she knew exactly what she was doing, Archer noted the tightness in her jaw and the slight intensity in her eyes.  She didn’t get it. 

“Let me help you,” he stated before he moved forward.  It was an order and because she wasn’t currently his boss, he could do that.  He was the expert this time and had the reasonable ability to boss her around.  It also meant he could instruct her however he wanted.  He wanted to be physical, it was the only way he was going to get her to do anything – she clearly wasn’t going to understand him just saying it at her. 

She was just fumbling with it mentally and tried to appear as confidant as she could.  She was doing an ace job and would have convinced anyone who didn’t know her that she was actually competent with it.  Fortunately for them, Archer knew her and was well aware she had no idea what she was doing just by a twitch of her lip and the slight furrows in the space between her eyebrows.  He knew those looks well and smiled despite himself, moving from his spot and behind her.  “Here,” he said gently, starting to place her feet the right way, and moving to shift her body forward. 

Taking a few steps forward, when he was content that her body was the right way, Archer took the gun from her hands and put his arms under her own.  “Alright, see?” he held his arms just as he had before, only this time directly in front of her, “that’s how you hold it.  Copy me,” he rested his chin on her shoulder and waited for her to take the gun from him.  Taking in a deep breath, he realized something – she smelled like… flowery things… he recognized one, lavender....  It was her hair.  He wasn’t surprised, nor did he find it distracting, just something different he didn’t notice before. 

He let out this deep breath and set himself up to help her more evenly.  His chest was pressed against her back and he tried to help her hold her arms the right way, “not so tight, Ray,” he instructed into her ear, “You’ll hurt your elbows.”

It was as if she was an imposable doll. He came up behind her and began to readjust her stance. He increased the distance between her feet, shifting her legs until they were shoulder width apart. Gratefully, Tamis was a slightly built woman – the stool was not very spacious. She tolerated all of this in silence, carefully aiming the awkwardly handled gun away from them. It was not an uncommon practice when instructing someone in these matters. Very often she herself would have to halt a training session with the fledgling Aurors, correcting their footwork and re-demonstrating the arm motions associated with a particular spell, to show them what they were doing wrong. Often she would not let them leave until they had successfully mastered the move against her. It had, however, been a very long time since she had been in the role of the student.

“Satisfied?” She asked him with an amused smirk. The petite woman had avoided having to admit that she did not know how to hold the contraption. As long as she did not have to verbally admit it, she would be okay. Or so she thought.

It was when he came fully behind her that she began to have issues. If hand-holding had been a venture from the woman’s comfort zone, this was a complete head-over-heels uproot into the unknown.

His chest came up against her back, hard and muscular, yet strangely not uncomfortable. It had been a very, very, very long time since she was this physically close to another human being. Most people were not nearly that foolish. Most people were not Archer. Her still raw and tested emotions constricted in her chest painfully while her stomach somersaulted. He was so close that she could feel his ribs expand with every subconscious breathe, which tickled her neck with his exhalations, rustling her hair. She would have brushed back the strains draped around her shoulder -- so that they would not be in Archer’s face when he rested his chin on her shoulder -- but her hands were occupied with the very loaded gun. Instead, she tilted her head away from him to try and shake them back.

Her elbows? It was not just her elbows that were tense. It was instinctual, her defense mechanisms automatically snapping into place. Loosening up was easier said than done. But then she chided herself. It was, after all, just Archer. It was just Archer. And he was trying to show her how to do this. Slowly, she willed her muscles to relax, concentrating on each section in turn. Knee caps unlocked first, and then (as he had instructed) she dropped one shoulder just so, giving the arm some slack and then the other, allowing her forearms to rest on his beneath hers. Next she lowered her chin, loosening some of the strain in her neck even if she could still feel his even breathing. Then, finally, she gave up the tension in her back, letting herself rest more fully against him. Relaxed but not lazy. Lazy did not come to mind just then.

“You made this seem easy,” she complained, retrieving the gun as he held up back out to her after his demonstration, attempting to imitate what he had just shown her. The vantage angle was an improvement, when she could view the instrument as he could. She had both hands wrapped around the gun now, eyeing her imitation critically.

“Like this?” She asked, glancing at him sideways without moving her head.

When he finished positioning her legs, bending her knees and readjusting her petite feet (it was funny to him, considering it was only a small stool and yet she could have proper stance on it by virtue of her size), he smiled, “With your stance? Yes.  Your handling – not so much,” he was going to be blunt, regardless.  She didn’t need coddling now and when it came to a dangerous weapon, he didn’t need her to fall off the stool while she was trying to shoot or let her arms fly around and possibly hit him with the gun or something of the sort.  It would just amount to disaster, particularly for him. 

So, when she started to relax, Archer was there to make sure she didn’t go overboard.  It was the tendency to take extremes when first learning how to handle a weapon one is unfamiliar with.  He had seen it with dozens of rookies in the field, wielding their wands like they’re pros until they come across something they have never heard of – he was the same way, though far more tentative than some of the Gryffindors who traipsed through the doors like they had been to Hell and back.  There was only one who could claim that, and even Radley didn’t bother to get in Potters way – didn’t work with him on much of anything either, much preferring the tiny partner in front of him.

She did not appear so small right now though, partially because of the stool and then because of the gun in her hands.  He never much paid attention to her size unless to make a comment or two, but otherwise, she was just Ray.  Lavender scented hair, pale skin, and piercing eyes aside, she was his partner.  Smiling, he let a deep sigh out of his nose and moved just the millimeter closer so he could actually feel the muscles in her back relax – her body drop a little.  His mind flashed to the previous evening, Claudia’s hand sliding down his chest – her harsh and pointed words.  He blinked rapidly to rid himself of the memory, focusing now on her hands, clutching the gun in front of him. 

“One last thing to fix,” he muttered softly, reaching out to take the gun from her, placing it on the counter.  “Fingers out, spread,” he demonstrated, his hands stretching to their full length.  They were so much larger than her’s and looked as though they could crush them if they wanted to – but his were not violent hands, not towards those that did not deserve it anyway.  When he was satisfied, he picked up the gun and held it out in front of her, “dominant hand first, index finger lightly on the trigger,” he guided her, rather than allowing her to follow his verbal directions, closing her fingers over the now warm weapon, only increasingly heating up with their continued contact. 

“Left hand over,” he moved her other hand, “for accuracy,” and was satisfied.  “Remember, relaxed arms,” he felt like she had tensed up again, perhaps in reaction to his own tension.  He felt his throat hitch every time she moved for some reason.  He really needed to get out more.  “Okay Ray,” he took a deep breath and put his hands over hers, “you’re going to fire.  Count down from three.”  She was in control now, he was just an accessory – hopefully she would do well.  He couldn’t imagine she would fail.

A small scowl filtered across Tamis’ features, creasing the space between her eyebrows as she glared not at Archer but her hands as he informed her that her handling was not the best. It was very little secret that Tamis Raynor made a horrible student. Academically, the woman was like a forever absorbing sponge and usually would not rest until she knew everything that there was to know on a certain topic – it made her a very thorough Auror. However, she also expected to get everything right on the first attempt. The bluntness she simply brushed aside, it was a direct form of communication she appreciated and it was also very Archer, a familiarity she clung to in this very unfamiliar predicament.

Was it possible that he was standing even closer? A noisy breath escaped his nose and swept across her neck , spiking her pulse there without her permission. She could feel it throbbing just below her ear. Yes, he was definitely closer.  Raynor was all too aware of her large partner in frustrating ways to be aware of him in. Many new additions to the Auror Office found Archer Radley intimidating when they first met him and, depending on how they got on, some of them maintained that respect through their career. When she first joined the Corps, Tamis had never been afraid of the man who stood more than a foot taller than her. Through their many initial confrontations she had simply disliked the fact that if they ever came to blows that he had an unfair advantage. Her immunity to his strength had not changed but Merlin was she was aware of him. It was suddenly uncomfortably warm in the room and it was unnerving.

The removal of the gun from her hands was a temporary relief and she latched onto that outlet as if her life depended on it. Following his example, she spread her fingers in the way he had his. Her dominant hand? Ambidextrous, the woman lacked a dominant hand. Usually she dueled with her left and wrote with her right. A left-handed opponent was not common and often gave her an advantage she lacked in raw power and writing right-handed was simply more convenient – it avoided creating smudge marks in the ink when her hand crossed the parchment. But this required two hands. She presented her right one as dominant. This time, however, he physically took her hand, positioning it properly rather than allowing her to do it herself.

As her fingers closed around the gun a second time, the trigger was cold against her index finger compared to the rest of device, which had heated from their combined contact of it. Her left hand clamped securely over the gun and her right, joined immediately after by Archer’s on top of hers. It was considerably comical, actually. If she had not been standing directly in front of him, one would never have been able to tell that she was holding the device the way his hands engulfed hers.

Relaxed arms, right. The muscles pressed against her back had tensed and she had responded in kind. She swallowed loud enough to hear it in her ears and nodded curtly in response, once more forcing the stress from her limbs.

“One,” her finger rested unwavering on the trigger. She had never been the hesitant type. “Two,” she shifted slightly against him, gaining her bearings. And then finally, “Three.”  Her finger pulled back on the trigger and the expected loud BANG echoed through the desolate range. What she had not been expecting was the way her shoulders jerked back after she fired. She might have stumbled if Archer had not been directly behind her. Now she understood why she had to relax her elbows. He still could have warned her. The unexpected back lash from the muggle device had thrown her aim off, sending the bullet slightly off the projected path, a little more to the left of Archer’s mark. With almost two decades of Auror experience, the woman knew how to aim, but it was a foreign ends to the means. With a wand that still would have been a fatal strike and so she was content. 

One.  He could feel her breathing.  He could feel the tension entering back into her fingers, getting ready to use her index finger to pull.  She was not used to this, he was not used to this.  When Barnes had taught him how to shoot, he did so from over two feet away and through explanation rather than show.  This was completely new to him and though he knew what to expect, she had no idea.  The surprise was more in the actions than anything else for him.  Her back lifted and rested back against him, he could feel her breathing. 

He didn’t even have to try to hold his breath, though the moments felt as though they were ticking by in the most ludicrously slow manner.  It felt like ages, and she had only taken two breaths, though he could name every muscle that twitched in those two breaths – his and hers.  He felt so incredibly in tune with the weapon, with her movements – her body – his body.

Two.  Not only did she continue to breathe, but she moved.  She readjusted herself and their entire dynamic.  He felt her shift against him and he could have audibly groaned, had he the breath to do it.  He did not know what was coming over him, but his eyes felt a little clouded and he was almost dizzy.  The smell of lavender was overwhelming as her hair tipped in front of his face.  He moved only slightly to see, resting his chin against the crook of her shoulder, her clavicle right underneath his strong jaw. 

It was almost time.  He could feel her grow stronger, anticipating the noise, the feeling of a bullet careening out of the muzzle.  The backlash of the weapon was going to startle her, but he had prepared her.  He had showed her.  The power of a weapon could not be underestimated; it was like a wand, only with a single purpose.  He felt like they had come here with a single purpose, to relieve stress.  He could feel nothing but tension. 

Three.  She pulled the trigger.  The noise was entirely muted to Archer who paid attention to nothing by the way she slammed back against him, anchoring his feet to catch her, steadying her with his strong arms.  She tipped; he stayed strong, wrapping his arms around her only momentarily.  When he thought he was getting too comfortable, his arms snapped off, like she was on fire – he certainly felt hot about his face and in the pit of his stomach – and stood back once she was still. 

He took a deep breath, finally enough room between them to really breathe.  Turning his gaze to the target, she had gone slightly left, no surprises – she was new.  Even if she was a good shot with a wand, the gun was a totally different sensation.  Lots of different sensations, he thought.  “You did well,” he murmured in a husky voice, “really well.”

Spells had recoil; any competent dueler knew this and prepared for it. The stronger, more offensive the spell, typically the stronger the kickback. But the magic that cast the spell was internal – it was a part of the caster – and usually one knew how forceful it was going to be, how much they had to ground themselves for it. This muggle device was completely external from her and while she expected something she had not compensated for as powerful of a force as the gun emitted. It startled her, entirely.  

The force of the bullet expelled from the gun threw her backwards, bringing her up hard into Archer Radley’s waiting embrace. Somewhere between the time she thought of firing and actually executed the task, his chin had found the dished groove of her clavicle, pressing his cheek against her exposed neck. Was it his face or her skin that was warm? She hoped, in that millisecond before she fired, that he could not feel her racing pulse – it felt as if the vein was trying to escape her neck.

Powerful arms caught Tamis and encased her, holding her to Archer in a way that made her brain fuzzy. Her breath caught in the back of her throat, mid-exhale. Forces beyond her recognition kept her stationary, the gun still locked in a vice grip and pointed at the ground before the stool, as Radley’s powerfully built arms locked around hers. Sensibility returned to him first and she felt him flinch before practically leaping away as if the scant space between them had electrified. What was truly concerning was that she could not decide if it was relief or disappointment she was feeling from the loss of contact.

Finally letting out the rest of the breath, Raynor sucked in desperately needed air – air that felt much colder than it had five minutes ago. It was a good thing her hands were still occupied or she may have tried to run one through her hair, a dead giveaway. The lavender shampoo that she used was a guilty pleasure and an expensive one. She did not need to be adding excess oils from her hands to her hair.

Clearing her throat, she nodded, grateful for the cooling of the flush in her face. “Thank you.”  Finally she looked back up at him, a corner of her lips quirked in a failed attempt at a smirk. “I have a good instructor.”

To say Tamis was shaken by her reaction was an understatement. This was Archer Radley for Merlin’s sake. Her permanent annoyance, partner of many years – one of her best friends, the best outside of the MacDonells. They bantered and teased one another, argued and bickered, and yet always had the others back. She trusted him and he had stayed with her while she cried, cried for the first time in nearly fourteen years. It had been an emotionally trying day, she finally decided. She clearly was not thinking straight.

For that reason it did not occur to her that bending down to put the gun back on the counter from her precarious position on the stool was not extraordinarily wise. The potentially fatal instrument made it safely onto the enameled surface but Raynor’s balance was compromised. Her shaken legs waved and the heels of those deceptively sturdy boots slipped and came out from under her – and she landed on her rump on the stool with teeth jarring force. And was quite content to stay there.

Tamis Raynor was not a klutz, never had been and never would be. She simply did not trip or fall or stutter without provocation. She did not miss her chair when she sat down and cracks in the sidewalk did not jump out at her. She had absolutely and utterly no explanation, so cheeks tinged slightly red (this time from a different heat), she looked back up at him again from a much more familiar level and said the only thing she could think of,

“You could have warned me about the recoil.”

He licked his lips and nodded at her, a silent response to her compliment.  He didn’t know how to respond.  He had not been a teacher, particularly to her, for a long time.  He had the odd trainee every once and a while, but generally, it wasn’t his place to give anyone instruction unless he was asked.  He had taken it upon himself to thrust Ray into a situation she was going to have no idea what to do and then subject her to it.  Perhaps it was not what she needed, but it had been something.

In his own mind he could not place whether or not this was something good, and hands in his pockets, he rocked back and forth for a moment, trying to collect his racing thoughts.  There were just too many to try and sort through properly.  He lifted his right hand to his head, running it through the slightly shaggy, brown hair and rested it on the back of his neck for a moment.  He barely noticed her own flush, concentrating on how hot his neck was and wondering if the rest of him was showing just how… affected he was. 

Funny thing was, when he caught her, Archer never really noticed the kick back anymore.  It became so much an extension of himself, the bad energy flowing upward through the trigger and propelling in the clear line toward a target.  Perhaps he felt a sense of relief rather than the jolt of the weapon backward.  He barely noticed, barely cared.  It wasn’t about that for him.  It was about release, an escape.  He was not a man who dwelled on escapism, nor did he try to actively avoid the life he had picked for himself, but now, it suddenly felt different.  He was still physically wound up, and his mind was running a hundred miles a minute, exercise it was not used to when he wasn’t staring at the gray wall of his cubicle. 

He glanced over when she started to move and saw that she was doing something potentially stupid.  It didn’t cross his mind, however, to warn her that she was going to get herself hurt.  He had too much already floating around to say something – of course he didn’t have to.  It was like it was happening in slow motion and no matter how quickly he thought he was moving, it looked like his fingers had been dipped in superglue before stuck in his pockets.  He tugged his left arm more than once to free it from the confines of the pant pocket and cursed softly to himself, looking up as he heard the tud. 

She looked stunned for half of a second, but never one to let others know her weaknesses Ray, put on her stately façade.  She wasn’t going to let him know that she was absolutely mortified, though she did manage that with some level of grace.  If it had been him, he would have ended up on the floor, sprawled out like some kind of idiot.  He didn’t need to be sprawled out on the floor to feel that way. 

Coughing awkwardly, Archer shifted his weight from his left to right foot and strode forth; going to grab the weapon she placed on the counter and flicked on the safety.  “I didn’t think about it,” he commented, “whenever you put it down, you have to flick on the safety – just in case.”  He didn’t know what else to say either.  He might have fired off another couple rounds, but he thought that would mean she would have to do so as well and he wasn’t sure he could handle any more of that. 

Archer, he prepped himself, you are only human.  You were practically compromised yesterday – don’t be stupid.  He took a deep breath and looked at her, placing the weapon down on the counter, leaning against it with his palms down, fingers facing out and curling around the edge.  He crossed one ankle over the other – casual.  “Fun, huh?”