#harrem

“Hm?” he responded and looked down at me. As usual, he was gorgeous in his semi-formal attire. However, his usual gray scarf was piled on top of my stomach because I took it. He wasn’t getting it back anytime soon.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with super-strength when I do nothing whatsoever?” I inquired curiously. It wasn’t that I didn’t like my power; I just had no idea what I was supposed to use it for if I didn’t kick criminal asses.

Harry thought for a second before replying, “Well, theoretically your aim would become better since you’ll be able to keep the gun still. You’ll be able to open bags of chips from Costco without scissors. You can tackle Bucky, which isn’t easy for most people. Um, let’s see…. You’re like Supergirl but the non-flying version minus the laser eyes, so that’s pretty cool…but you’re not bulletproof. I don’t suggest blocking bullets with your body. How long do you need me to go?”

“Eh, you can stop there,” I replied unenthusiastically. The Supergirl comparison sounded cool until the ‘minus the laser eyes’ part. Then, I added, “And you are such a nerd. 'Theoretically your aim should improve’?”

“What? It was the first thing that came to mind since you’ve got your own rifle now!” he replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “And you pedantically replaced half of my sentence with 'should improve’, so who’s the nerd now?”

“It’s still you because you used the word 'pedantic’ to describe my paraphrasing,” I teased, looking up and grinning. “After a few months of doubling up in science classes, you learn to be concise. Otherwise, you’re screwed.”

“Oh, so I’m the nerd? You’re the one who spends summer vacation studying the sciences!” Harry chuckled. When we sank back into a comfortable silence, his eyes lit up. Cold fingers brushed my side and moved lightly across in a tapping motion. His smirk grew wider as I lurched away, laughing uncontrollably. Erie jumped off as I rolled off the couch and onto the cool floor clutching my stomach.

“I hate you so much,” I giggled, curling up into a fetal position and trying to calm down. Oh, he was so lucky that my reaction was to get away from him and not grab his hand. Unpredictable super-strength and tickling did not mix well.

“You love me, Mrs. Osborn,” he retorted playfully. A laugh escaped his lips as I smacked his leg. “You also love puppies, cats, marshmallows, cinnamon rolls, drawing and painting, reading, writing, and Disney…. But not as much as you love m- OW!”

—-

Late-night training wasn’t so bad.

I raised the barrel of my new assault rifle, Celaena, and a bullet implanted itself into the center of the target across the room. I exhaled slowly and adjusted my aim to the right target.

A bang split the silence as I pulled the trigger. The bullet hit home, just a hair off from dead center. And I mean that literally: I know because I checked. Argh.

With the safety switched on, I cleared the magazine and checked the cartridge for bullets. I probably had two or three left, which meant that I could go one more round. Assuming I hit each target on the first try, that is.

Bucky stood to my right and watched my form and technique. His arms were crossed, and his gray eyes tracked every shift of my hands.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to shoot,” he commented, not breaking his stoic demeanor.

I discreetly moved my finger away from the switch and adjusted my grip again. Resting the butt of the rifle against my shoulder, I tilted my head a little to line up the barrel with the center of the left target.  Bracing for the kick, I fired. A soft click, then a baffling silence. That wasn’t good. Frowning, I lowered the barrel and began looking for where I went wrong.

“…You forgot to turn off the safety, Em,” Bucky pointed out. With a hint of snark, “You can’t fire if it’s on, if you haven’t noticed. That’s why you’re supposed to turn it on when you’re not going to shoot.”

“Ha ha,” I drawled sarcastically, clicking off the safety. Bringing it back up to my cheek, I aimed and fired. Bullseye. The next two bullets rang true, hitting their mark at the center of the target next to the first two holes.

I clicked on the safety again for good measure before lowering the gun.

“Well,” I began, breaking the silence. My voice reverberated off the walls. “That was fun. Now I might be up all night.”

The corners of his lips quirked up as I carefully disassembled my firearm for maintenance. After all, she’s not a toy. “How’re you liking her? She’s your first gun.”

Taking off my safety glasses and setting them onto the table with a clink, I replied, “She’s so cool. I can see why you like these so much.”

Bucky nodded and rested his metal hand on my shoulder. “How about once you get the hang of this we move on to close-combat? Steve’s been helping you with managing your strength, right? We’ll work on tactics, teach you how to use a knife correctly-”

“-But I thought you told me I’m not allowed to use knives,” I prodded, wiping down the handle and beginning to reassemble the rifle. “You won’t even let me cut up fruit by myself!”

“That’s different,” he deadpanned, though I could tell he was trying not to smirk.

“Right,” I laughed. “One mutilates sacs of fructose while the other one mutilates human beings. I love your logic.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head at me. We left the training room, walking side by side to the elevator.

“'Night, Em,” he said as the elevator arrived at my floor. His voice was like a warm blanket, and in that moment I realized how burnt out I really was. Dealing with Menken at Oscorp was tiring enough on its own, then afterwards we came back to the tower and hung out with my sisters for a while, which led to lots of bantering and eating and cute moments. Naturally, it practically sucked all my energy out. It was nice to have some downtime at the end of the day to work with Celaena and Bucky.

Celaena’s my gun, in case you haven’t caught on yet.

I pulled him into a tight hug, burying my face in his chest. “Thanks, Bucky Bear. You, too.”

—-

“I thought Bucky doesn’t like you using knives,” Harry said as he crawled under the blankets.

“Shhhhhhhhh, it might be my only chance to use knives,” I murmured. Erie and James lied down between us, creating a wall of fur. Their ears twitched as I tugged the blanket up to my chin. “Maybe he’ll finally let me cook without supervision.”

Harry chuckled and turned to face me. “You’re a dork,” he commented, and smiled.