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[ James' relaxed stance reminds Will of Beverly. Jack was also a phenomenal shot but Jack tended to be like a bull, and he used a shotgun as often as he used a handgun. Beverly had the lean graceful lines and lithe competency that Will could see in James.

He gave no further commentary or indication of when he was going to toss the debris. Instead, after a couple of breaths, he turned and flung the chunk of broken building up and into the air. ]

[He might be showing off-- no, he's definitely showing off when he actually makes a move, but it just feels good to prove that he's still capable of doing something, even if he's screwed up in a lot of other ways.

The gun comes up and three shots fire in quick succession. The first hits the debris, the second hits the broken piece of debris that splits off from the first shot, and the third decimates it into nothing more than dust. He didn't take a stance or even seem to aim, just raised the gun and fired it like it's an extension of his arm rather than a separate weapon.]

[ Will watched the display with a calm expression, that was also genuinely impressed.

He could certainly appreciate the skill he was just privy to watch and as a remaining pebble, from the original debris, bounced across the rooftop to bump against his foot, he watched it. Then he looked back up and over to James. ]

Can I just take you along and you shoot the monsters for me?

[ The question wasn't entirely a joke! ]

No.

[He spins the gun to offer the handle to Will to take again, looking ever so slightly more relaxed now. He hates that about himself, that gunfire is an almost comforting noise.]

You have to learn to defend yourself, because other people won't always be there to shoot the monsters.

[ Reaching up to automatically take the weapon back, Will looked down at it in his hand. ]

In all the times I've had to defend myself, I've almost never used my gun. The one time I did discharge it to save my life, I used it to deafen the man trying to garrote me.

[ If ever there had been a time and a place to take a head shot. ]

That's why you need to learn, you understand that it's a last resort, I wouldn't be teaching you otherwise.

[He's already refused a student that's too trigger happy.]

You're not as bad an aim as you think, is it aiming at a living person that makes it harder?

[ The question caused Will pause as he had to stop and think back. Unwind the layers where Hannibal had manipulated his natural reluctance to fire his weapon into something else entirely.

And then dig a couple more layers down beneath that.

It took a couple of minutes, but then he gave Bucky a sad smile and nodded, glancing down at the weapon. ]

It was part of why I left the police force, my reluctance to shoot another person would put not only my life but my partner's life in danger.

[ And back then, Will had firmly categorized his reluctance as the desire not to take another life. Now, he was forced to recognize that he'd feared he'd end up enjoying it too much and wouldn't have been able to stop himself. ]

[Bucky never really felt that reluctance. He had been a soldier in the war, he had shot the enemy to survive, and then he had shot the enemy to make sure Steve survived, and then he had become a gun for someone else to shoot. But now-- now he wanted to never have someone else's life extinguished because of something he's done.]

That's why you have to learn to be accurate, being a good marksman is what will help you save lives. If you came for me, I could shoot you in the knee and incapacitate you non-lethally. If you tried to do that to me, you might hit me in the stomach or throat.

James. [ Will began, looking at the Sig in his hand. ] I'd probably miss entirely.

[ Wait, not quite what he wanted to say. Looking up from the gun, he exhaled a long breath. ]

There are a lot of things I'm good at, and honestly in my job ... if I do my job right, guns shouldn't ever been necessary. I do the work to ensure that the people breaking down the doors have a thorough understanding of the monster they're facing. I don't ... break down the doors.

Guns are always necessary, it always ends in a fight.

[He sounds more weary and sad than he does argumentative.]

Take a look at your scars, at mine, and tell me that's not the case.

[ Will really isn't trying to bring this to the point of being an argument. He has no desire to argue with James and is a little curious about the man's almost ... resignation to the fact that guns are a necessity.

At the challenge to look at his scars, Will actually did glance down at himself. He poked at his stomach, then looked at his hand, reached over the back of his right shoulder and then prodded at the front, eventually touching his cheek. Eventually he looked back at James. ]

Out of nine permanent scars, only one is the result of a gunshot. The other eight are from knives, a scalpel and a circular saw.

[ He paused, giving it some thought and then added. ] For the record, the gunshot was the only instance where the perpetrator wasn't trying to kill me.

That's not the point.

[He can't tell if Will is being deliberately obtuse, or if he genuinely just didn't understand that his use of the word guns was wider meaning than just that specific weapon.]

Guns, knives, saws-- whatever. It's a weapon, it's gonna be needed, words don't solve everything. You can't rely on that to always get you through.

And I'm saying that if we ever get in a situation where everybody is relying on my marksmanship to get us out of it; kiss your ass goodbye!

[ The last was said in a sharp tone, though the frustration was aimed more at himself than James.

He was a man pushing forty, had been in law enforcement (in some capacity) his entire working career and his marksmanship would put an adolescent to shame.

Will reached up and rubbed at his forehead. He was starting to develop a headache. ]

Alright. I'm sorry. This is just ... I don't want this to be a waste of your time, or mine. [ As he spoke, he looked down at the Sig, as if it were blowing him a raspberry. ]

[It's a surprise to hear Will snap, he's been so composed since Bucky met him even when he was being stabbed through the hand. But it's almost good, a reminder that he's human too and gives into his irritations just like anyone else.]

It's not a waste of my time, or yours.

[Not that he has anything else going on with his time anyway.]

You have potential, you're not hopeless. I can help you shoot straight, even if you don't become a world-class marksman.

[ For a moment Will fell silent, still looking down at the Sig. He flexed his fingers around the grip and then nodded. ]

Alright. [ He agreed, finally looking up. ] But could we just keep working on stationary targets for a bit? At least until I can stop flinching on the recoil?

Sure.

[He's willing to compromise.]

What is it that makes you flinch? The noise, or the knowledge you've just fired a gun?

[ Will gave it some thought, eyes down on the gun as he considered the question.

He was having to think back to his past self. The part of him that felt so distanced from his current reality. Pre-Hannibal and post-Hannibal. ]

Both. [ He answered. ] At least, the last time I shot a gun in earnest it was both. I don't know if it would be the same now.

[ Giving his head a shake, he looked up at Bucky and his lips twitched. ]

I think now that I find it, somewhat ... inelegant.

It's a gun, it's not supposed to be elegant, it's only purpose is to kill people. There's no stealth to it, no finesse, it's just death.

[He would never use a gun if he needed to stealth kill a target, there's no way of covering up what it was.]

If you want elegant, you need a weapon with more versatility.

[Like him.]

Death can be elegant. [ The words slipped out of his mouth before Will could stop them, but he managed to swallow the remainder of that thought.

He glanced up at Bucky, blinking curiously towards the man. It was possible that he was following one of those odd, intuitive paths of his, the ones James hated but that Will couldn't entirely shut off.

At least, when he spoke, his question was genuine curiosity and not a statement. The curiosity possibly offering a little insight into Will's own psyche; as a peace offering. ]

What would you consider a weapon with more versatility?

[His eyes narrowed, but he at least offered an honest answer, Will has earned that much from him.]

Me.

[He's a weapon with the most versatility there is. It's not something he's proud of, but he can't run from that fact.]

[ It was impossible for Will not to build an empathy map out of that one word, when taken in context of the conversation. There was so much he wanted to say in response.

But he'd promised James that even if he couldn't not construct the psychic profile, he'd at least keep it to himself.

In respect to that promise, Will looked down at the gun in his hand and dropped the slide to investigate the bullets still housed within, as he responded. ]

I don't make weapons out of my friends.

You look like you're gonna choke not saying more.

[It's an observation made with the driest of tones. He's sort of resigned himself to Will knowing more than he'd like about him now.]

[ Will half turned and gave James a wry look overtop the rim of his glasses. ]

I promised to keep my observations to myself. I never promised that I'd have a good poker face about it.

Yeah, I know. I just don't know if it's worse knowing that you know something, but not what it is.

[He's a contradiction in terms. It bothers him greatly when people know his past, but the uncertainty of not knowing how much they know is almost worse.]

[ Tapping the two parts of the handgun together, Will gave it a moment's thought before he deliberately placed the slide into one pocket and tucked the now empty weapon into his waistband. If he ended up getting thrown off this roof, he didn't want to accidentally shoot himself on top of it.

Turning to face Bucky, his hands found his pockets as he let his eyes close. The images flashed into brilliant technicolor without any effort on his part. In fact, it was harder to keep them at bay. ]

You've always wanted to protect people. It defined you growing up, you were a defender, a character trait probably enhanced either through defending a younger sibling, a friend or a girlfriend; someone who needed your physicality.

But you also have a taste for excitement, adrenaline junkie.

A person like you, a protector who wants to be on the front lines, usually goes into public service. Fireman, police, first responder, military. You're military, which is ... risky. You believe so deeply, you put your faith in the orders you're given but the people issuing those orders don't always deserve your loyalty.

The abuse of men like you in the military is ... rampant, but because you are a protector you turn the disillusion inwards onto yourself.

[ Will paused and his eyes opened, and while he was looking directly at James, it was obvious that his gaze was inwards. ]

There's an additional component with you. [ His eyes flicked to the arm and then back. ] An experiment, soldiers are often the first human lab rats utilized by a government. [ His eyes narrowed and relaxed. ] But this wasn't your choice.

It wasn't your choice, which means their modifications had to be mental, emotional as well as physical.

The human brain is an amazing organ, James. The things it can do to preserve itself, a survival instinct above and beyond even our own bodies.

Disassociation.

That combined with the dehumanization, and your innate need to protect those around you. You hold to the definition of 'weapon' because you're not prepared to forgive yourself for what you've done as a result of the abuse and manipulation that's been done to you. And because you're not ready, you won't allow yourself to accept the idea of your own personhood from any outside source. No matter how close the friendship.

[ He wasn't suggesting that he and James had any such closeness, but Will suspected James did have close friends in the city.

For now, he blinked and gave himself a small shake, blinking around as if re-orienting himself, glancing off to the side and then down to his toes. ]

Like I said; I don't make weapons out of my friends, even if that's how they see themselves.

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