Mirage // Marvel Universe

download-WhatIsLove.mp3

February 2006

I slam the rifle down on the metal table and yank out my earbuds. Banging the side of my fist into the table, a loud clang echos throughout the expansive shooting range. I'm the only one here— perks of the technological age making me proficient in breaking and entering into just about anything.

"Isn't the shooting range supposed to be closed this time of night?" Natasha asks from the door I left open, making me jump. She's in her grey SHIELD jumper and black sweatpants with her red curls lazily swept up into a bun.

"That's the thing about electronic locks," I laugh wryly, "They can be hacked."

"What are you doing here? It's late."

"Trying to learn how to fire this damn thing." I gesture with a huff at the rifle on the table. "Figured I should know how to use an assault rifle if I'm going to be in a combat situation." I don't add the part about me not being able to shoot a rifle on the mission when one of the men was on the verge of killing me. That would just worry her, and the last thing I want is her and Clint conspiring to have me taken off any future mission rosters.

Natasha crosses her arms in that familiar position that makes it feel like she has the gravitational pull of a small star. She always finds a way to command any room, even in her pyjamas. "Well, to start, you should know that 'assault rifle' is an arbitrary weapons category that includes many types of weapons."

"As much as I love the info-dump, I don't think that's going to change the fact that I still can't shoot it."

Walking over to the first window of the shooting range, she beckons me over. "Here, let me help. Then, you have to promise to get some rest, deal?"

I nod, picking the gun back up and leaving the iPod Clint lent me on the table. I can still hear the faint beat of an old song playing from my earbuds in the near-silence.

"What is love? Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me no more..." Hey, I'm not judging his choice in music.

Natasha puts on hand on my shoulder and the other along my arm as I face out into the shooting range. "Put the butt of the stock on your shoulder like this," she instructs. I let her position the gun for me. "Okay, now, hold the handle firmly, put your finger on the trigger, and aim at the target. Easy." The warmth of her hand moves from my shoulder to my lower back and my breath hitches. I look back, feeling the way her breath brushes my cheek. Natasha smiles but gives me a disapproving look. "Keep your eyes on the target, Hagino." Trying to keep my focus off Natasha, I adjust the gun until it alines with the centre. "Aim little to the left and..." I can feel the pulse of the trigger under my finger, bringing me back to the moment I last held a gun. "Fire."

I don't. I can't. Once again, I find myself hitting the same wall I have been stuck behind since the mission in Norway; the wall I had been trying to break down all night.

My finger releases the trigger and I stumble backwards. "I'm sorry I— I can't do it..."

"Is it jammed? I can get you a new gun from storage—"

I put my hand up to stop her. Setting the rifle down, I shuffle to the back of the galley, pressing my fingers hard into the bridge of my nose. "It's not the trigger. It's me, Nat."

"You had it right. Just pull the trigger," Natasha offers.

I know she's trying to help, but her help isn't what I need; getting over whatever is holding me back is the priority and I have to do that alone. It's that face, that haunting face. It's been two weeks since the Norway mission, but every time I feel the familiar sensation of the trigger, I still see Gregor's blank face. It's like a moon constantly pulling back the tides of my mind, pale and bright enough to match the snow.