Hey, look, Garrus: here’s a target now.

Tucker strolled in without a gun, without much of anything, really; the armor was left behind for some civilian clothes because shooting would be a lot easier without it, right? The sword, deactivated, was at his hip, just a hilt that wasn’t on and wouldn’t look like much of anything. A smile crossed his lips as he eyed up and down the range; someone had to be here, firing. All Tucker needed to do was go and harass them enough to let him shoot their gun, too.

Someday, this practice would get old, boring, would become work. There was going to be a time when it wasn’t a warm bitter reminder of Church, that twisted his heart up painfully and warm.

Today wasn’t going to be that day.

Tucker walked up to Garrus, tried not to think about the similarities and differences that he had with the aliens he was all-too-accustomed with, and leaned against the wall.

“You missed,” he chided with a smirk on the first shot. Granted, the smirk fell and his eyes widened as he watched all of the clip’s remainder hit home; those words were sour as he swallowed them back down.

“Um…yeah, nevermind.”